The Abyss of Revenge
by Anne Phoenix
Summary: Final part in the Blood & Fire arc. Having once again escaped Scorpia, Alex finds himself in a different sort of trouble. But if Alex is going down, he's determined on taking everyone with him.
1. Chapter 1

Story Notes:

I am insanely excited to be posting this. Not because it's amazing and wonderful and epic and great, but because it's *finished* & also because I managed to make it all work out exactly as I'd hoped/planned. This is the final part of the Blood & Fire arc and start a few weeks after the end of You Can Run but You Can't Hide. The entire arc now clocks it at about 80,000 words ... Alex is my muse!

Posting will occur across the space of three weeks, that's approximately one chapter every 48 hours -- encouragement and chitchat is always welcome and will make this author very happy!

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Title: The Abyss of Revenge  
Author: Anne Phoenix  
Rating: R  
Summary: Final part in the Blood & Fire arc. Having once again escaped Scorpia, Alex finds himself in a different sort of trouble. But if Alex is going down, he's taking everyone with him.  
Warnings: Violence, m/m (blink and you'll miss it)  
Disclaimer: Alex Rider fanfictions are based on characters and situations created and owned by Anthony Horowitz, various publishers including but not limited to Walker Books, Puffin Books, Entertainment Film Distributors (UK), and MGM/The Weinstein Company (USA). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All non-original characters and locations are used in a non-commercial, transformative manner and fall squarely within the Fair Use exception to the exclusive rights of the copyright owner.  
Author's notes: Many thanks to hpstrangelove for beta reading!

**The Abyss of Revenge  
Chapter 1**

Alex stared at the grey steel door. It had been about ten minutes since his physiotherapist had left the room. _Cell._ Which meant Alex had approximately another fifteen minutes until that idiot psychologist, Dr Berford, would knock theatrically before inviting himself in.

The physiotherapist, Steve, was okay. He didn't seem to have anything against Alex _per se_, and treated him as well as could be expected given the circumstances. Steve was clearly used to working with training injuries rather than field injuries, and he'd been surprised by the extent of the clearly intentionally inflicted damage sustained by Alex's knee. Alex had had to undergo surgery again, and he knew he was lucky to be walking without a limp. Age was on his side, Steve kept reminding him as he manipulated his leg and helped him strengthen the damaged tissue. Somehow, everything in Alex's life always came back to age.

Dr Berford, on the other hand, was an idiot.

Alex had already decided that Dr Berford wasn't actually a real psychologist, but rather some kind of psycho-tormentor employed by MI6 to get into Alex's brain and mess him up. Dr Berford seemed to think his interrogations were subtle, but they were ridiculously transparent. Sure, he went through the motions of helping Alex deal with death: Ian's death; Eagle's death; Spider's death; Alex's fear of death, or maybe Alex's lack of fear of death ... but Alex wasn't fooled. Dr Berford approached the subjects of Ian, Yassen and Scorpia too often for his visits to be innocent. That said, Alex mostly found it easy to deal with Dr Berford. He just said whatever the man wanted to hear, while never giving away anything MI6 didn't already know.

In contrast, dealing with Alan Blunt was considerably less simple. Alex had always imagined the man to be permanently stuck behind his desk, but it turned out that Blunt was not only mobile but also mentally athletic. He had personally taken over the interrogation of Alex, and continuously assaulted with never-ending strings of questions: trick questions, leading questions, accusations.

Alex tried to answer Blunt's questions as honestly as he could without incriminating himself, but he often felt as if he'd been talked into a corner. Several times he had almost lashed out in fear and anger. Blunt never seemed satisfied with any of Alex's answers. He used sneaky tactics, like using Alex's natural curiosity against him, taunting him with the potential of new information. One day Blunt had brought along the letters MI6 had confiscated after Alex's arrest.

Alex's heart had squeezed painfully as Blunt read out the words Ian had written to Yassen. "I know what it says. I've read it before," he'd interrupted, unable to hear another word, and hating himself for having been too childish to give the letter to Yassen.

"Do you know who the codename Kazak refers to?"

Alex had glared. "You know I do."

"It doesn't make Yassen Gregorovich a good person. Nor does it make Ian Rider a bad person," Blunt had started, and Alex felt now the same surge of rage he'd felt at the time. He'd screamed at Blunt, then. "I know that! Why won't you believe me? Yassen and Scorpia; they're all the same: terrorists, bastards. Yassen killed my uncle. He murdered him."

_Because of you,_ he'd wanted to add, angry at Blunt's apparent disinterest. Alex would never be able to forget the genuine anguish in Yassen's eyes when they'd talked about Ian. Not that love made anything okay; but Yassen had saved Alex twice now, despite his true belief that Ian Rider had used and betrayed him without a second thought. And Alex had as good as confirmed that belief back in the Blackwell tunnel, just out of spite.

Blunt had always seemed to see right through Alex, for he'd smiled knowingly before putting the letter back down on the table between them. "How about the other letters?" he'd asked, looking down at the one addressed to 'Arshad Ahmedi'. And as much as he hated himself for it, Alex had felt a pique of curiosity. He hadn't had the time to even open, let alone read, the other letters during his stupid and hopeless attempt to run away from Scorpia and MI6. So he'd been genuinely curious as he'd listened to Blunt read the letter, and then felt a surge of disappointment when all it seemed to reveal was the existence of a large sum of money that Ian had promised a Scorpia informant. The tone was drastically different from that of the letters written to Alex and Yassen - cold, detached, professional.

"I've never heard of the guy," Alex had sighed. His eyes had kept creeping back to where Yassen's letter lay on the table and he'd wondered for the hundredth time since his incarceration where he'd be now if only he'd stayed with Yassen. "Nor that guy," he'd added, nodding to the letter addressed to 'Lexus'.

Blunt had smiled unpleasantly and put down the letter to the informant. "Ah yes. Lexus is a particularly interesting character, mostly because we have not been able to work out his real identity."

Alex had looked down, feigning disinterest, but inside he'd felt alert. Even the memory of it now accelerated his heart rate. He _wanted_ to know everything there was to know about Ian Rider. So he'd listened carefully as Blunt had said: "Lexus appears to have been close to your uncle. Very close. As close, it seems, as Yassen Gregorovich." Blunt had stopped to watch Alex's reactions. "Like Yassen, Lexus is linked to Scorpia. Here," he'd handed the letter to Alex. "What do you think?"

Alex had accepted the letter with a trembling hand. He knew his uncle had been good at his job, but there seemed to be so much about Ian he didn't know. He'd started reading, ignoring the rush of sadness he felt at the sight of the familiar handwriting.

_****_

Lexus,

If you are reading this, it is likely that I am dead. Rest assured that there is no evidence of my part in your lives. I am not sure why I feel the urge to write to you, but perhaps old habits die hard. I miss you. Need closure. Perhaps one day you will be able to tell James about me. I am sure he will enjoy the story, even if he cannot remember it. I feel it's important you know that I would never have betrayed you. Regardless of where my professional loyalties lay, a part of my heart was always reserved for you. And it's for you that I will keep Chris' secret to the grave. For you and for James.

Love always,

Ian

Alex had almost forgotten how to breathe as he'd read his uncle's words. Nonsensical thoughts swam around his mind, each more confusing than the last. But he'd not been able to make head nor tail of any of it and Blunt had never brought the letters back after that day, possibly satisfied that Alex genuinely didn't know anything about their intended recipients.

Since then, Alex had had more than enough time to try to make sense of his uncle's words, but he felt like he was faced with the pieces of a giant puzzle that just didn't fit together to form a logical picture. Alex couldn't help but think that some of the missing information had to be in the final letter; the only one he hadn't been asked about, addressed to 'Christian Hale'. He couldn't stop thinking about it, trying to come up with plans to get Blunt to bring the letters back.

Alex was startled from his musings by the clank of the steel door swinging open. He sighed inwardly at the thought of another gruelling session with Dr Berford and turned to face his interrogator. But instead of the weedy figure of the psychologist, a much larger man had just stepped into the cell. He was well over six feet tall and had a huge, bulky frame. He was built like a tank and he was also very familiar to Alex.

"Snake! What are you doing here?" Alex was immediately on his guard. The last time he'd seen this man had been during their vicious fight in London. It hadn't been a fight he was winning.

"Get your stuff; you're coming with me," Snake answered, glancing around the room as though to double check they were alone. For a moment, Alex wasn't sure if he had heard correctly, but Snake's urgent expression told him it was no joke. "Seriously? Why?"

Snake shifted his weight and looked at his watch with a hurried expression. "We don't have time to discuss this, but you'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have broken your knee either, so ..."

Snake flinched a little. He couldn't quite meet Alex's gaze. "I was told to bring you in, whatever the cost, Cub. You do understand that my loyalty lies foremost with my superiors?"

"What about now?"

"Now … let's just say you saved my life and I have reason to believe that yours might be in danger."

Alex remembered the gun pointing down at Snake's head, remembered calling off Yassen before he could pull the trigger. "I suppose I did save your life," he muttered. "But my life is always in danger. And ..." He hesitated, unsure whether he should mention the Scorpia tracking device or not. He still hadn't told MI6 about it. "I can't hide from Scorpia. There's not much point in me running away. It'll only get me in more trouble. They'll find me wherever I run."

Snake shook his head. "It's not Scorpia I'm worried about, Cub." He too hesitated for a moment, before suddenly blurting out: "As of today, MI6 have declared you a threat to national security. They briefed us this morning – you're officially a terrorist, and worse, they think you know more than you're saying. They want to know why Scorpia kidnapped you but then left you unharmed. The worst damage you sustained was," he looked guilty as he spoke, "your broken knee. And I did _most_ of that. They also want to know why Yassen Gregorovich, a man that few have survived encountering, would leave a live witness to his presence in London: me."

Alex ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "That's not fair. I would never betray MI6. As for Yassen..." He stopped, confused. As for Yassen, he had no clue what was going on there. It never struck him as particularly odd that the assassin had not killed Snake. If anything, Alex had taken it for granted that Yassen would allow the SAS man to live when Alex had asked him to. It seemed to fit their pattern of interaction.

"What do they want to do with me?"

"It's like you said, Cub. Lock you up and throw away the key."

"This is not worth risking your career over," Alex insisted.

"It bloody well is!" Snake countered heatedly. A resounding knock on the door made them both freeze. As much as Alex appreciated Snake's sentiments, his help had come too late. And possibly that was a good thing. He looked up at the door, expecting Dr Berford to walk in, but Snake did not seem concerned. He nodded towards the door. "I'll brief you in the car, but for now, let's get out of here," he urged.

The door swung open then, and Alex's heart almost leapt to his throat when he saw Wolf standing in the doorway, his rifle armed and ready. Almost instinctively, Alex raised his hands, but Snake remained relaxed.

"Come on, double oh nothing, we haven't got all fucking day," Wolf hissed. Alex's eyes widened. Wolf sounded as hateful as ever, but Alex knew the man well enough to see that his anger was not directed at Alex for once.

"Why are you helping me, Wolf?"

"Don't even mention it," Wolf snapped. He looked annoyed, but there was also a glint of excitement in his expression. "And I mean that, okay? Don't fucking mention it."

Knowing he'd already wasted enough time, Alex followed Snake's lead and together they hurried out into the corridor. Alex knew the building where he'd been kept was part of a large military compound, but he hadn't realized quite how large until they reached open air. It looked like there were miles and miles of barracks ahead. Several soldiers were in sight and Alex took a step back into his prison.

"We'll never get out of here," he murmured. Every soldier here was armed … and they were all about double his size.

"Don't be daft," Wolf snapped. "Just stick with us."

With those words, Wolf strode away from the building. He walked confidently and Alex had to jog a little to keep up. Snake stayed behind them both, keeping an eye out for higher officers and nodding at fellow soldiers. Alex's heart was pounding so hard he was finding it difficult to breathe, but Wolf and Snake both looked as cool as cucumbers.

"You got babysitting duty?" a young black soldier called out, and several men laughed in response. Wolf scowled. "Want to swap places?"

The soldier shook his head and laughed again. "Not bloody likely. Don't do kids, me."

Alex heard them sniggering and then they had left the group behind. He hardly dared to hope that Wolf and Snake's simple plan might work – how would they get him past the main gates? If Blunt or Jones realized he was gone, then they'd shut down the whole of Credenhill if they had to. They'd put up road blocks; they'd close down the motorway; they'd turn the entire country upside down. His heart rate picked up again and he pressed closer to Wolf. How far would these two men go to protect him? Should he turn round and run back to his prison rather than risk further trouble?

Snake must have read his mind, for he suddenly stepped closer to Alex and whispered: "Just trust me, okay?"

Okay. He could trust Snake. _He had to._

But he also knew that from inside his abdomen the Scorpia tracker would be forever sending out its deadly signal. How long before Scorpia decided to pick him up again to continue the training they had in mind for him. This time he wouldn't even have Yassen to … what, protect him? Look after him? Where the fuck was Alex going to go?

"Won't breaking out make everyone think I'm guilty?" he asked.

An angry spasm crossed Snake's face. "I told you: they briefed us this morning. As far as they're concerned you already _are_ guilty. _Officially,_ you've been working for Scorpia since they trained you. _Officially,_ you're a danger to the general population and to the government of this country. They want you gone. You've become an inconvenience to them. The whole thing is fucked up. They're going to hang you out to dry and no one will know or care that you've disappeared."

A shiver ran down Alex's spine. He knew MI6 could pull this off; could make the world forget he ever existed while they did whatever they wanted with him. _Bastards. _Wolf stopped abruptly, putting an end to their conversation. A young dark-haired man was approaching – he was in military uniform, but Alex immediately recognized his psychologist. And of course Dr Berford immediately recognized him.

"What's this boy doing out of his room?" Dr Berford demanded. Wolf shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Physiotherapist ordered brisk walking."

Dr Berford tried to look friendly as he gazed at Alex. "It's good to see you on your feet, Alex. Stand down, boys. I'll take Rider from here."

Wolf shook his head, his dark eyes piercing. "I'm sorry, sir, but we have orders not to leave this kid's side for anything or anyone."

Dr Berford sighed irritably. "Fine. Then come with me. I need to speak with him."

Again Wolf stood his ground. "Physio ordered thirty minutes of brisk walking. We've not yet done ten. I'll bring him back in twenty."

Dr Berford looked like he was about to argue with Wolf, and Alex's heart thumped madly. But then the man scowled. "All right. You do your thing, soldier. Bring him back as quickly as possible. And be careful! He's dangerous!"

The warning made Alex shake his head with disgust. That man was on crack or something. For all that he wanted to assist Alex's emotional release, he came across as the least approachable person Alex had ever met. He'd rather confide in Alan Blunt. Well, maybe not quite…

Dr Berford finally moved on and Alex saw Wolf and Snake share a look. "Yeah, he's an idiot," Alex confirmed. Snake smiled a little. "Let's waste no more time."

They walked another five minutes until the chain link perimeter of the camp was only a stone's throw away, and finally Alex could see their destination: the main car park, filled with rows of green military land rovers. There were only a few soldiers here and they hardly looked up as Alex passed.

"We have about ten minutes before that idiot raises the alarm," Wolf said, picking up speed as they approached the parked cars. "It's enough time," Snake responded confidently, but Alex could make out a tinge of anxiety in his tone. Alex nearly had to skip to keep pace with Wolf's stride. "We're just driving straight out?" he asked, looking towards the main gate where a steady stream of cars was being waved in and out.

"I know the guy at the gate," Wolf muttered. "Told him we had an appointment with some lady friends right after our shift was over."

Alex blushed, but kept his stride as Wolf approached one of the cars. Snake had the keys and they were soon inside and reversing out of the parking bay with Alex huddled in the foot well behind the driver's seat. He concentrated on calming his breathing and folding into as small a space as possible. As usual, being only fourteen had its advantages.

"You stay down," Snake ordered, throwing a khaki blanket over him. "Just don't move. _Whatever happens._"

Alex could hear the gravel crunching under the wide tyres of the land rover and he knew that they had joined the queue to leave the compound. It should just be a formality. Wolf and Snake would wave at the soldier by the exit and then they would drive to freedom. Still, Alex felt more anxious even than when he'd been in Scorpia's clutches. At least then he'd had a pretty good idea of what the future had in store for him. Now he felt like he was starting a journey into the unknown. The car jerked forwards and stopped again. Alex imagined them getting nearer and nearer to the red and white barrier. And again. And again.

"Hey mate," an unknown voice almost made Alex jump. It sounded so close. Someone was standing right by the driver's window. He bit his lip and held his breath, too scared to even breathe in case the man heard. "You got time off again, eh, you dirty bastard!"

Wolf chuckled with the man. Alex felt the driver's seat shift as Wolf moved to talk to his friend. "Yeah. Me and this old Snake here have got ourselves some fun lined up, if you know what I mean!"

As they all laughed, Alex managed to quickly exhale and inhale. He held his breath again as the laughing tapered off.

"Off you go th— "

The man paused as something came crackling over the radio. Wolf's radio jumped to life at the same time. The message was the same:_ "Code red."_

Alex's lungs were fighting for air, but he didn't dare give in. "What's going on," Snake called from his side of the car.

"One of the special guests has gone AWOL! We need to shut down the compound."

"Awwwe, man," Wolf exclaimed. "Now? Right now?"

The soldier sighed dramatically. "Hang on."

Alex heard footsteps moving away and breathed frantically as the soldier walked back to the booth by the gate. Then held his breath again when the man returned. "Yeah, they want all Special Ops on hand." He paused for a minute. "Shame you'd already gone for your leave before all this kicked off, eh? Off you go, lads!" He laughed as Wolf and Snake both loudly expressed their gratitude. The land rover jolted forwards again and they were off! Alex heard the barrier close behind their vehicle with a final clunk.

"Stay down Cub," Snake ordered before Alex had even started breathing again, all traces of laugher now gone from his voice. "It's not going to take them long to work out that you're already out of the compound, but I'd rather stay under the CCTV radar for as long as possible."

"Where are we going?" Alex asked. His heart was still thumping against his chest, but now it was more with the thrill of escape than with fear. "Heathrow. All being well, in five hours you'll be on a flight to New York. You'll have to look after yourself out there, but you have friends in America, right?"

Sabina. In San Francisco. Maybe Jack's family? "Won't they be checking the flights?"

Snake snorted. "Tomorrow, maybe. Today, I doubt it. They haven't got the manpower. Besides, in about ten minutes we're going to send them on the wild goose chase of a lifetime."

"I'll need a passport. And money," Alex blurted out anxiously. Lots of money.

"Sorted," Snake muttered. "You do still have some friends, you know."

Alex felt a rush of elation. Jack! It had to be! Feeling more settled, he tried to get comfortable in the foot well of the land rover. He stayed put for another ten minutes, wondering what Snake had meant by his cryptic comment about a goose chase, and then the land rover finally stopped and the blanket was pulled away, exposing him to daylight. The vehicle had pulled up on a motorway slipway. Alex could make out a sign in the distance: they were two miles from Hereford; forty-six miles from the Brecon Beacons. Familiar roads for any young soldier in Special Forces.

"He should be here any minute." Snake exchanged a nervous look with Wolf, but he needn't have worried. Within moments, Alex heard it: the familiar rumble of a helicopter overhead. "Your ride, double oh nothing. He's got everything you need to get out of here. Post-haste to Heathrow."

"What about you? How can I ever thank you …"

Wolf's teeth glinted. "I've set off every speed camera on the A438 and I'm about to set off a few more on the A465. We'll get a disciplinary for getting the fuck out of camp during an emergency, but we'll feign ignorance and they'll never be able to pin anything on us."

"I don't know what to say. I thought you hated me …"

The words blurted out before Alex had time to consider them, and he instantly regretted them. Wolf looked uncomfortable. "Don't say anything. Not now. Not ever. You saved Snake's life and that's thicker than anything, man. Now get the fuck on that ladder and get out of my sight."

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	2. Chapter 2

Bottom of Form

Author's Chapter Notes:

Thanks for all the lovely comments. It's fascinating to see what readers notice or find important - I do frequently take comments into account as I'm finalising future chapters for posting, so don't hesitate to click that review button! Authors are fuelled by feedback!

Many thanks as always to hpstrangelove for beta reading- without her keen eye for detail my stories would be a lot more chaotic!

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**Chapter 2**

The helicopter had descended as low as it could, its rotors creating a little whirlwind of hot air and dust. Knowing there was no further time to waste, Alex gripped the metal rope ladder and clung on tightly as it was retracted into the cabin. It was a small military chopper; the type often used for land based training exercises. Curious, Alex did not wait for the hatch to close before looking at the pilot. He was wearing combat fatigues and when he turned to salute, Alex recognised him from his first training exercise on the Brecon Beacons. It seemed like a lifetime ago since this man had laughed at the hopelessness of a teenage boy, send to train with Britain's finest soldiers.

Alex slipped into the co-pilot seat. "Thanks," he mumbled, a little embarrassed.

The man shook his head dismissively. "You saved Snake's life. He vouched for you and that's that. Though he never said the target was," his gaze flicked up and down Alex, _"you."_

Alex shrugged. He was used to standing out like a sore thumb. He felt touched by just how far Snake had gone to get him out of the Credenhill compound. His reputation and career were on the line. He felt even more overwhelmed that Wolf had gone along with the escape, but maybe there were things he still didn't quite understand about K Unit, or what was left of it. They were treating him as one of their own and it brought a sense of togetherness that he hadn't experienced since before it had all gone wrong in the Brecon Beacons. Dr Berford would probably say he had some kind of abandonment issues that made him crave this feeling of belonging, but that didn't mean Alex couldn't savour the feeling while it lasted.

"So. We going straight to Heathrow?"

The pilot nodded. "Yeah. Your Bergen is here. Spare clothes - military, I'm afraid. Italian passport - I was told it's your spare? We should all be so lucky. Cash, packed lunch. You're set for the big trip, mate."

"Yeah. I doubt I'll be coming back," Alex muttered. He'd have to beg the Pleasures to let him stay with them for a while. He'd think of something. As long as MI6 didn't know he'd left the country, he'd be safe there - hopefully for long enough to enable him to figure out what to do about this mess. He tried not to think about the Scorpia tracker, clinging to the hope that the satellite wouldn't be able to pick up his location once he was on another continent. He'd worry about that later. Scorpia were unlikely to be considering Alex Rider as a priority right now.

He enjoyed watching the countryside below - green fields, murky brown woods, flooded rivers ... It was almost mesmerising and he didn't quite notice the time pass until the pilot was radioing for permission to land at a small private airstrip just outside Heathrow. Alex could see the sprawling tentacles of the main terminal runways as they approached. The helicopter was like an insignificant fly heading straight for an inescapable web.

Once back on firm ground, Alex was accompanied into another military land rover by two soldiers. They didn't introduce themselves, but Alex guessed they had to be more friends of Snake. They must have had special clearance, for they bypassed the long queues of traffic leading up to Terminal Four and dropped Alex off right outside the building.

"Check in G," one of the soldiers said before saluting. "Good luck, Cub."

Alex simply nodded in response, overwhelmed once more by his inclusion in Snake's military family.

Then he stepped through the automatic glass doors into Terminal Four and into the crowded bustle of Europe's largest international airport. It was like stepping into a different world; a loud, colourful, busy world. Alex hadn't seen this many people in a long time. He felt silly, in his combat fatigues and carrying a military Bergen, but he didn't dwell on it. With some luck, people would simply assume he was a young soldier on his way home.

Check in G was full of activity, though luckily his counter was not as busy as those of the budget airlines. Heathrow to Newark Liberty International. Air France flight AF23728. He stood in the queue, taking a step forward every so often as passengers completed their check in. The crowd made him twitchy, but he tried to keep his breathing steady. He needed to look normal! He searched through the Bergen as he waited.

The Italian passport had been given to him by Blunt to travel on for a mission – he recognised it at once. It made him Alexander Riedere. It also made him old enough to travel alone. He was also named on the ESTA form that had been slipped into the first page of the passport, approving him for the VISA waiver program. The only other thing of interest in the Bergen was a wallet containing several hundred pounds in twenty-pound notes and two books of travellers' cheques, as well as a pre-paid debit card. He silently thanked Jack, for he knew that only she could have prepared the documents that would soon be aiding his escape from the country.

"Passport, please," a bored voice cut through his thoughts. Alex almost jumped - he hadn't noticed his own progression to the front of the queue. He handed over his passport, noting a little angrily that his hands had become clammy. The woman typed away, looking at Alex and then back at the passport several times before handing it back.

"Any bags to check in?"

Alex shook his head. The woman craned her neck over the counter suspiciously. "Cabin luggage?" she enquired.

"Only this." Alex held up the Bergen. The woman turned back to her typing for a moment and then handed him a luggage tag. "Have you packed your bag yourself?"

"Er, yes," Alex hesitated, thinking wryly that this was possibly the first time in his life he'd had to lie in response to this question.

"No prohibited items?" She pointed to a sign picturing knives, guns, explosives and various other random objects.

He shook his head.

She hit a few more keys, before finally handing his boarding card over the counter. "Have a nice flight, Mr Riedere. Thank you for choosing Air France."

Alex snatched the boarding card and retreated from the counter with such haste he almost tripped over the next passenger in the queue. His hands were shaking and he knew he wouldn't feel safe until he was in the air and leaving his homeland behind.

The security check did nothing to calm his nerves. Even the queue of shoeless people waiting to pass through the metal detectors held no comic appeal today. All he wanted was to get past the guards so he could disappear into the crowded shops beyond. He threw his Bergen onto the X-ray conveyor and kept his gaze low as he walked through the metal detector. One of the security guards laughed as he stepped through the detector and jokingly said to his colleague: "Here, they said to look out for a blond kid, didn't they?"

Alex felt his heart lurch, but the other guard simply laughed and waved him through. "They're always giving us useful guidelines like that," he explained, looking straight at Alex. "Blond kid, tall guy, German woman, bloke with glasses." Both guards laughed, all but forgetting about Alex as he grabbed his Bergen and hurried away. Another shock like that, he thought, and MI6 wouldn't have to worry about him anymore because he'd probably just do them a favour and have a heart attack and die.

He wasn't able to relax until he finally sank into his seat on flight AF23728. He sat by the window and looked out at the grey runway. He felt exhausted from the stress of his escape, but also elated. He'd made it, and in about eight hours he would be safe on foreign territory. He knew it was only a temporary solution, although you did sometimes hear of people who'd gone missing twenty years previously only to turn up in a random village somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he could feign amnesia … and an American accent. He smiled inwardly. Yes, best not get himself carted to the nearest British or worse, _Italian_, consulate to be shipped home in disgrace.

Passengers were still climbing onto the plane and it wasn't long before a young blond woman stopped by Alex's row and threw a book onto the aisle seat before stuffing her luggage into the overhead compartment. She smiled at him as she sat down and fastened her seatbelt, then she buried her nose in her book. Alex turned back to the window. A large Boeing was landing in the distance. Another was taking off right after. He waited impatiently for the mill of passengers entering the plane to slow down. Soon, they would taxi out to the runway, pick up speed and disappear into the clouds. He heard the overhead compartment again and turned to see a tall businessman squeezing a briefcase into the small space left between Alex's Bergen and the woman's bag.

The businessman looked at the empty middle seat with the resigned air of a man who had many years experience in folding himself into the ungenerous space allocation of economy class flights. Alex watched sympathetically as the woman unclipped her seat belt and stood, allowing the man to edge past. He was very tall and slender and his suit didn't seem to fit him at all. His ankles and wrists were visible and the suit hung off his shoulders, as though he had lost a lot of weight.

Alex looked back out towards the front of the plane, willing it to leave.

"Statistically speaking, flying is quite safe," a soft voice suddenly cut into his thoughts. He turned, startled, and realised that the businessman was looking down at his clenched fists. Alex tried to smile but he knew his face betrayed his nerves. "Yeah, I know. I just want to get it over and done with." Which was true, in a way.

"You flying alone today?"

Alex nodded, noting with relief that the loading docket was finally retracting, indicating that all passengers were on board. "Yeah. Visiting … family."

The man had a soft face; the sort that was very hard to age. He could have been anything from thirty to fifty … maybe even older. His grey eyes were kind. "You ever been to the States before?"

Alex felt his gut clench as he remembered his disastrous mission only half a year ago. "A few times. Holidays and stuff."

The man smiled and Alex realised with some surprise that he was enjoying the company. For three weeks the only people he'd talked to had been his physiotherapist, his psychologist and MI6 … and none of those conversations had been pleasant.

"I used to travel a lot, with my … father," Alex volunteered, then immediately wished he hadn't as a wistful expression crossed the man's face. "I wish my son would travel with me. He doesn't want to now. Girls, pubs, friends… " The man trailed off sadly and looked up at the stewardess who had just started her safety announcements. "Looks like we're off."

The plane taxied through the grey airport, rolling on for many minutes before finally coming to a halt at the end of a very long runway. Alex watched another plane land far ahead and suddenly their craft lurched forwards with a loud rumble. It rapidly picked up speed, whirring and groaning under the strain of the mechanics. The floor tilted upwards as the nose lifted and suddenly the whole thing juddered as it jumped into the air and cut through the clouds.

"Defies gravity, doesn't it?" the businessman spoke again. Alex nodded. Heathrow was already as small as a playground below, the smog of London fading.

The plane continued its ascent for another ten minutes, then levelled out. Within moments, two stewardesses were on their feet, walking down the aisles to check on the passengers. The pilot was speaking over the announcement system, briefing them on their flight path, cruising altitude and speed, weather and estimated time of arrival. Alex sighed – although he was flying into the unknown, at least he was on the move. He sat back and relaxed until the stewardesses started serving the food.

"Vegetarian meal?" a pretty blond stewardess asked, and the businessman accepted the tray. Alex couldn't help but look onto the tray, which sported a rather boring meal of white rice with various colours of vegetable. "I don't eat meat," the businessman explained, peeling the plastic cover off the tray. "Not if I don't know where it's come from."

After Alex's meal had been served, he was inclined to agree with the man. Although the vegetarian option looked boring, the standard meal looked almost toxic. The chicken, identifiable only by its label, was grey and chewy and the gravy made him feel slightly nauseous. But it was better than the even blander army rations he'd been given for the last few weeks, so he forced himself to savour the meal as best he could.

They'd been flying for just over an hour when the first passenger started feeling unwell. It was a young man. His girlfriend explained loudly to anyone who would listen that her boyfriend had complained of cramps before suddenly jumping up and running to the toilets. Nobody really cared or listened until five minutes later two more passengers reported similar symptoms.

It was only once there weren't enough toilets to go round any more that Alex had to admit to himself that he too was feeling rather unwell. Luckily, his stomach must have been fairly tough, for he clearly wasn't feeling quite as sick as many of his fellow passengers. His neighbour, on the other hand, reported no negative symptoms. He felt fine ... as indeed did all the other vegetarian passengers on the plane.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. It has been brought to my attention that several of our passengers have been taken ill after eating our in flight meal," a smooth American drawl suddenly crackled over the loudspeaker. "We apologise for the inconvenience caused and we will try to make the rest of your journey as comfortable as possible. Nancy will be coming down the aisles to take down details of any passengers feeling unwell after consuming our meal. Thanks for your understanding."

Alex's stomach rumbled, but he refused to give in to the rising nausea. He didn't want to attract any more attention than absolutely necessary. Instead he focussed on the clear sky. They were cutting through the air at almost eight hundred kilometres an hour, away from England, away from MI6; away, hopefully, from Scorpia. He refused to let a little bit of food poisoning ruin this moment.

"You all right, son?" the businessman interrupted his resolve. Alex smiled weakly. "Great," he answered, turning to face his neighbour. "As long as this doesn't get any worse, everything will be great." The businessman nodded in agreement. "Yes, I really don't have the time for an emergency landing!"

Alex frowned. "Is that what they'll do? If it gets worse, I mean?"

The man shrugged. "I guess they'd have to, no? They'd probably have to take everyone to the nearest hospital, no matter what country that was in. I mean, imagine if someone died from eating their food!"

He excused himself and edged out of his seat, noting with a wink that he was just stretching his legs, not running for the bathroom.

Unfortunately, at exactly one hour and forty seven minutes into the flight AF23728 from Heathrow Terminal Four to Newark Liberty International someone did die. One of the older passengers had been complaining of increasingly painful cramps and as he contorted in agony, his heart suddenly stopped beating. Just like that; something had ruptured in his gut, overwhelming his circulatory system with bacteria and leading to instant multiple organ failure. He was travelling alone, which was a small blessing, Alex considered as he watched the panic unfold.

Emergency landing was now no longer a concern in the hypothetical future, but a necessity, and the pilot announced their redirection towards Keflavik International Airport in Iceland. Paramedics and ambulances would be on standby. But even as the pilot urged the passengers not to overreact, Alex could hear the veiled fear in his voice. He could only hope that the pilot had not eaten any of the chicken that day. Alex himself did not feel like he was about to drop dead any time soon; the cramps were painful but no more than from the start. If anything, in fact, they were easing off a little, a symptom thankfully shared by several other passengers.

"Hopefully they'll be able to put us straight back on a flight to New York," the businessman grumbled. "This is just my luck. When it's not a delay in the departure lounge, it's something else. Typical. I'm Lester Mallon, by the way. I suppose we'd best get to know each other!"

It was only another forty-five minutes to Keflavik and no one else died in that time. The deceased man had been carried out of sight and Alex, along with the other passengers, tried his best to forget what he had seen.

_Another death. Another corpse._

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Chapter Notes:

I completely forgot my in-laws would be visiting for Easter - I thus need to interrupt my posting rhythm :(. If there is enough support/desire (!) for an update, I might be able to manage a small chapter over the weekend, so don't hesitate to hit that review button! Otherwise business as usual will resume late Tuesday 6th April!

-

**Chapter 3**

Alex sighed as the plane rounded in for its landing. His stomach cramps had faded to a dull ache and he hoped that the worst of the food poisoning had passed. He'd already decided he would pretend he hadn't been affected. That way, they would hopefully send him on his way as soon as possible and without further delays. He clung to that optimistic thought as the plane landed and finally came to a halt.

No one was allowed to leave their seat as paramedics entered the craft and went to work identifying the most unwell passengers in order to transfer them onto stretchers. "Is anyone else feeling any negative symptoms at all? Any sickness? Any cramps?" a tall blond man asked after several passengers had been carried out. He had boarded the plane with the paramedics and had a strong Icelandic accent.

Alex shook his head and although the businessman, Lester Mallon, raised an eyebrow, he accepted Alex's decision without comment. The blond man looked relieved and spoke into his radio in Icelandic. Then he addressed the passengers again. "I am Dr. Tobias Anfinsen from the Icelandic Red Cross emergency services. We believe that you have been contaminated with a strain of Norovirus, although we are uncertain why the symptoms occurred so quickly. We believe that this virus is not fatal and we will investigate how the fatality has occurred, but we will wish to reassure you that this is likely to be an isolated incidence. However, because of the unusual speed of infection, we do need to place all passengers into quarantine for forty-eight hours while tests are being conducted. Air France are in full cooperation with this protocol and they will organise for your well being while you are under quarantine. Please—" He raised a hand to stem the rising of angry voices that had suddenly erupted. "This measure is for your safety, to ensure that there is no risk of complication from this infection."

"You bloody better put us in a nice hotel!" a man shouted out and Alex couldn't help but wonder at the priorities of some people. He wasn't exactly happy about the quarantine himself; in fact he was already wondering whether it would be possible for him to escape the quarantine and find a quicker way to America. If not, he would just have to keep a low profile until Air France put him on a new flight ... and hope that MI6 didn't remember the phony passport they'd given him.

The journey to the hotel took almost an hour. It was a large commercial hotel, five stars, all inclusive, located in the country's capital, Reykjavík. The passengers had been allocated to two floors of the hotel, which would for the next forty-eight hours constitute their quarantine zone. Alex couldn't help but smile when he saw his room: it had a large double bed and a flat screen TV; a far cry from the bleak cell he'd inhabited in Credenhill for the last few weeks.

Quarantine meant exactly that; the passengers of flight AF23728 were forbidden from leaving their designated floor and all access in and out of the area was restricted. For the first few hours, Alex enjoyed the peace and quiet of his room. He watched the news to catch up on all he'd missed over the last few weeks and devoured the contents of the mini bar. He was just about to run himself a hot bath when a knock sounded on the door.

"Hi," a slender blond woman greeted with a sheepish smile. Alex was instantly on guard. He held the door only part open in case he needed to close it again in a hurry. "I am Margreta," she continued and then giggled and blushed a little. She had to be in her thirties, but her eyes were shining like a child at Christmas. Alex placed her accent as Dutch. "A few of us are going for a drink. Would you like to come?"

Alex let his guard down a little. He couldn't see any malice in her expression. He opened his door a little further and looked out into the corridor where a small group of passengers had congregated. They all had the same embarrassed expression, as though they knew that breaking the quarantine was a very silly thing to do but they were going to do it anyway. Alex shook his head. "No. I'm quite tired. I think I'll stay in." He was about to close the door, when Margreta pretended to pout. "Just one little drink?" she asked again, fluttering her eyelashes.

Alex was about to refuse when a recklessness gripped him. When in his life had he ever been able to simply go out? He wanted to go. He _wanted_ to spend time with normal people who were not trying to kill him. He deserved a drink.

"Ok, just the one," he accepted.

Margreta giggled and clapped her hands together. Alex was somewhat relieved to find that the drinks party did not consist solely of giggling girls. Lester Mallon, still wearing his ill-fitting suit, also came with them. Like Alex, he seemed tired but bored.

After they had located a suitable bar, one drink turned into two into three, four, five... While Alex stuck to Coca Cola, many of the stranded passengers got very drunk very quickly and the tone of the conversation was not long to deteriorate. After a few hours, Margreta jumped to her feet, swaying only slightly. "I need some fresh air," she announced. "Will anyone accompany me for a walk?"

Alex looked at the other drinkers, but no one seemed inclined to make a move. Grabbing the opportunity, he stood up. "I'll walk you. And then I'm heading back to the hotel. I'm quite exhausted."

Lester also got to his feet. "Excellent idea, Alexander. I think I'll be coming with you as well. After all, three is safer than two."

Margreta laughed and grabbed Alex's arm. "Lester was saying he saw a port on the way here. I love the smell of the shipyard. It's on the way back to the hotel. Let's have a look." Alex let her lead the way out into the cold night. He remembered reading that Reykjavík was a very safe city, but even so, he was glad that Lester had decided to come along, if only to help him keep the unsteady Margreta on her feet.

The route to the port was a nice walk, and Alex was glad he'd been convinced to leave the hotel for a few hours of precious relaxation. It wasn't long before they could hear the gentle breaking of waves against the harbour wall. A sign indicated that they had arrived at the cargo port, the Sundahöfn. "Ah you were right, Lester! Here it is, as you promised. I grew up near a large cargo port like this," Margreta exclaimed enthusiastically, looking out at the dark shapes of the huge cargo ships bobbing in the black water.

They walked a few more steps in silence, before Lester came to a halt. "It's only fitting then, I think, that you should die here," he said. His tone was as calm as ever, conversational, friendly, and for a moment Alex thought he must have misheard. Margreta too looked confused before laughing a little nervously. But something in Lester's expression had changed. His eyes no longer sparkled benevolently. He had become deadly serious.

Alex's breath hitched in his lungs. There was no one else in sight; the port was deserted, dark. Acting on instinct, Alex dropped into a crouch and lashed out at Lester, wondering briefly if he'd completely lost his mind and was attacking an innocent person. The way Lester blocked his kick, however, was far from innocent, and Alex found his entire body being twisted with the force of the counterblow. He hit the concrete with a thud and rolled onto his back, groaning with equal parts of pain and confusion.

_What the hell was going on?_

"Alex, I want you to watch this," Lester's voice cut through his confusion. Alex looked up to find Lester holding a wide-eyed Margreta in a horribly familiar stranglehold.

"Who are you? Let her go!"

Lester smiled and with seeming ease, he suddenly twisted. Margreta's neck cracked sickeningly. She went limp, the light extinguished from her eyes. Lester carelessly dropped the body. Before Alex could even think of reacting, Lester had drawn a handgun – a Beretta M9, complete with suppressor – and was pointing it down at him.

"Who are you?" Alex demanded again, shocked at how strangled his voice sounded. He tried to avoid looking at Margreta's corpse, but the vision of Lester snapping her neck was etched into his mind's eye. He'd recognised the move. It was the same hold Nile had almost used to finish him off in Venice. That's how easy it would have been; all his experiences, his memories ... everything ... stolen so easily. His eyes focussed on the M9. "How the hell did you get that thing through airport security? _Who are you?_"

Lester's benevolent expression had returned. He seemed amused by Alex's questions. "They call me The Gentleman."

Alex felt the air leave his lungs. His eyes widened.

Lest– no, _The Gentleman –_ smiled pleasantly. "Ah, I see you've heard of me."

Alex's heart raced. "How did you find me?"

The Gentleman chuckled. "That's your last question? The last thing you want to know before I put a bullet in your head?"

Alex felt his muscle spasm with fear. "Why kill her?" he demanded to know, pointedly _not_ looking at the corpse, _Margreta_. "Why _lure_ her here in the first place? It's me you want, right?"

"For sport, Alex, for sport. Any last words?"

It was like a fist had squeezed his heart. Someone had taken out his insides and replaced them with ice. So many times he had been in this situation and somehow, miraculously, survived. But this time...

"How did you find me?" he repeated stubbornly, fully expecting to hear the crack of the gun in response. Instead The Gentleman chuckled again. "You are a fascinating child, Alex Rider. I can see why so many people have an interest in you. Did you not know that your every move is tracked by satellite? The moment you left the Special Forces camp, _we_ were watching you, following you by computer. When it became clear that you were heading to Heathrow, I waited there for you. I waited for you to check in, then befriended poor Lester Mallon. I stole his identity and of course his life. After that it was simply a question of getting you where I needed you. _Right here._"

So Scorpia, then. Alex cursed inwardly. His escape had never stood a chance, and now they had sent their best hitman to finish him off.

"What are you waiting for?" he suddenly snapped, almost willing The Gentleman to pull the trigger and get it over with. But the man merely smiled. "Get up, Alex. Our ship is waiting. I won't be killing you tonight. But if you even think of escaping, then," he nodded towards Margreta's body, "Jack Starbright will be next. And then your friends from school ... one by one, until you do as you're told."

Alex almost deflated with relief at the realisation that he was not going to die just yet, then immediately felt guilty for surviving when others had died. "What do you mean, ship? How did you know we were coming here? Where are we going?"

"I knew we were coming here because I am familiar with airline protocols. In my line of business a little knowledge can go a long way. I also happen to carry with me a very useful virus ... as well as some fast acting poison."

He smiled darkly and Alex felt horrified at the implication that yet another person – the old man on the plane – had been killed because of him. He did not try to resist as The Gentleman gripped his arm and led the way through the dark port. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Alex did not fancy his chances of escaping; after all, where could he go even if he did get away from this man? And he was also unwilling to risk Jack or his friends. It was not the first time they had been directly threatened because of him, but the risk was too great o ignore. He had no doubt The Gentleman would be true to his word and go after them.

Thinking of Jack made his heart clench. She had risked everything to get him to safety, but now here he was, in mortal danger once more.

"The men who are taking us back to the mainland do not want you to see their faces," The Gentleman suddenly announced, stopping so abruptly that Alex almost ran into him.

"I won't look at them," Alex immediately assured, knowing already that his promise would mean nothing.

"Give me your arm, Alex," The Gentleman said softly, reaching into his inside pocket.

It took all of Alex's resolve to do as he was told, but he did, if only to prove that he could be reasonable. It would be better if The Gentleman believed him controllable. He couldn't watch as The Gentleman injected the drug, and felt only the tiniest prick of a needle. The effect was almost immediate, however, and Alex felt his legs give way beneath him. His last thought before hitting the concrete was that the bastard could have at least caught him.

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Chapter Notes:

An Easter update -- although this chapter is a bit short (it will be the shortest chapter in this fic, so no worries, I won't continue to short change you like this in the future!), it needed to be posted in its own right as it advances the plot in significant way! In some ways this is one of the hardest stories I have tried to write, as it draws together so much back story that it occasionally feels like my brain wants to explode!

Thanks for all your lovely reviews; keep 'em coming!

-

**Chapter 4**

The ground was moving and his stomach was churning. It took Alex a moment to realise he was actually awake and not dreaming, but then he remembered all that had happened and opened his eyes. He was in the dark, but he knew exactly where he was. It was ironic in a way that an only just fifteen-year-old boy should be able to recognise the smell and feel of the inside of a shipping container, but Alex Rider was no normal fifteen-year-old. He'd been trapped in this type of metal prison before.

Only an old wool blanket protected him from the cold metal floor and although his eyes must have adapted to the darkness by then, he still couldn't see a thing. It was pitch black. He felt nauseous, but he wasn't sure if it was the after effects of the sedative making his body feel heavier than it should, or if it was the erratic tilting of the container...

Presumably he was buried in the cargo bay of a ship, cutting through open waters and heading for ... Scorpia. It had to be. Alex felt sick. The Australian would not be impressed with what had happened in London only a few weeks ago. Maybe Alex could somehow blame Yassen? Or maybe he should have stuck with Yassen when he'd been given the option.

Maybe he should never have defied MI6 and turned them against him. _Now he was alone. _

Carefully, he stood up. The container was tall enough to accommodate him standing straight and he stretched his aching limbs gingerly, distracting himself from the dizziness. He wasn't tied up, so he investigated the perimeter of the container. It was larger than he'd expected and as he made his way around it, one hand pressed against the wall, he bumped into what felt like large cardboard boxes. He'd just reached the fourth wall, when he was suddenly blinded by bright lights. His muscles contracted and his eyes squeezed shut. He heard a thrumming sound in his head for a few seconds and then the moment had passed and he was able to open his eyes again.

Alex blinked carefully and looked around to discover that halogens had been installed up high in the corners. But the direct light was too much, and he staggered against the wall, unsettled by a wave of dizziness. He threw up, gagging at the return of the acidic coca cola, then moved away from the mess and sank to the floor.

A heavy steel clank made him groan - it felt like someone was drilling into his skull, but it was just the container door opening to let in a tall figure.

"Ah, you're awake," The Gentleman said. He sounded genuinely pleased. "You've been unconscious for a long time. I was starting to feel concerned that I'd given you too high a dose."

Alex said nothing. He wondered if all the drugs MI6 had pumped into him had messed up his system. Maybe next time someone sedated him, he'd do them all a favour and die.

"I apologise for the side effects," The Gentleman said, looking at the mess by the wall. "But it was a necessary precaution. I have not been involved in a kidnapping for many years, and I did not want to leave anything to chance."

Alex snorted at that. The Gentleman showed so little emotion, he could have been talking about the weather. "So why did they send you, an assassin, to kidnap me?" The words tasted of acid and it was all Alex could do to stop himself from retching again.

The Gentleman smiled. He closed the container door, and Alex heard the bolt behind slide shut from the outside. Then The Gentleman walked over to one of the boxes and pulled out a bottle of water, which he threw to Alex. "I'm paying back an old debt," he finally answered cryptically. "To an old friend."

Alex felt better after he'd drunk the water. The fuzz was clearing from his mind and his limbs seemed more coordinated. "Why do they want me alive?" he asked. The Gentleman shrugged. "I assume he wants to hear you scream."

_He_. Alex's heart froze. The Australian. And he _would_ want to see Alex scream. He was a sadistic madman who had made his intentions towards Alex crystal clear.

"How can you live with yourself?" Alex suddenly hissed, changing the subject away from his impending torture. "That girl, Margreta! You talked to her all evening. You bought her a drink. She told you about her daughter and her dog and you _... just like that._"

"Just like that," The Gentleman agreed. "Everyone dies, Alex. If anything, her daughter and her dog made her life worth living. Some people don't even have that. They leave nothing behind. No memories, no trace of their worthless existence. The daughter will get over the trauma. Or she might get hit by a bus tomorrow. Or she might die, slowly, painfully, of cancer for example. We don't choose our fate."

"Scorpia chose hers."

"I chose hers," The Gentleman corrected, though he looked amused. "I wanted her to die, to remind you how easy it is. That could have been your guardian, Jack. Would you have preferred that?"

"No," Alex mumbled, and The Gentleman turned back to the box.

"Plenty of supplies here," he finally announced. "Food, water, cleaning utensils. Chemical toilet. You'll be here for three days and then we will transfer onto a different vessel. Your people will be desperately looking for you, but by the time they succeed in tracing your steps, you will be further away than they could ever imagine."

Alex thought of the MI6 tracker. He wondered if the signal was still scrambled by whatever Yassen had done to it.

"Three days? Where are we going?" he wanted to know, trying to get as much information as possible.

The Gentleman merely smiled. "You have no need for this information. Not yet, anyway. Though while we're on the subject of location…"

He trailed off, keeping an eye on Alex while he pulled a small black device from his suit pocket. He pointed it towards Alex and it hummed for a moment before beeping loudly. The Gentleman's smile widened. "Two ways to do this, Alex. Either you can sit here and stay quiet while I destroy that tracker. Or you can fight me and I'll have to restrain you ... and _then_ destroy the tracker."

Alex's heart skipped a beat. He remembered vividly how the Scorpia guards had pinned him against the wall while the Australian had injected the nanodevice. Every instinct told him to fight, but he still felt woozy and he knew he didn't stand a chance.

"Just make it quick," he snapped, not quite sure what was going to happen next and half-expecting The Gentleman to pull a knife or something. But the assassin needed only the device in his hand. He pressed it close to Alex's belly, not far from where Scorpia had inserted their tracker, and then pressed a button. A stab of electric pain shot through him. For a split-second Alex felt so faint he thought he was going to collapse again, but then the agony faded to a dull throb.

"Done," The Gentleman announced. "Not so bad, was it? Just an EMP - don't worry, it will not activate the release of the nanotoxins in your device. We wouldn't want you dying a most horrible death before reaching your destination now, would we? It simply dampens the tracking signal."

Alex pressed a hand to his belly. "Why did you disable the signal? Come on, tell me? You work for Scorpia, don't you, so why disable their tracker?"

"I never said I worked for _Scorpia_."

Alex clenched his fists. It was true. He'd simply assumed. "But you used the Scorpia tracker to find me."

"That doesn't mean I work for the organisation as a whole. Stop asking so many questions."

_**I assume he wants to hear you scream...**_Alex shuddered. Could the Australian be acting alone? It horrified Alex that the Australian would go to these lengths to kidnap him, just for revenge. But then again, the man had gone to great lengths to get hold of him in the Brecon Beacons, too ... and in London. Aloud he said nothing, so The Gentleman nodded towards the cardboard box again. "I'll see you in three days, Alex."

_Three days... _

Alex was used to lonely captivity, but after forty-eight hours he wondered if talking out loud to keep himself company was a healthy thing or the first sign of insanity. At least he usually had captors that were interested in spending time with him - interrogating him, taunting him. He'd never realised how _long_ time could feel when left completely and utterly alone with nothing to do but dream through escape plans that were each as fantastical as the last. He made up mind games to stop himself from going mad. He tried to predict the rocking motion of the ship; paced the walls of the container with his eyes closed … and then with one eye closed to see if it was any different. He also kept up his physiotherapy exercises and made sure his muscles stayed in working order. He knew he might only have one chance of escape and didn't want weakness or stiffness letting him down.

He almost welcomed the return of The Gentleman when the three days had finally passed, although he did not welcome the return of the sedative. The sight of the needle made him feel nauseous and he couldn't stop himself from taking a few steps away from his captor, before clenching his jaw and stretching out his arm for the inevitable injection. The Gentleman didn't even have to ask.

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Chapter Notes:

The adventure continues, the plot thickens, the hysteria mounts ...

Thanks once again to hpstrangelove for the stellar proof reading

& thanks also to you, the readers, for your encouragement and support. I hope you continue to enjoy this story!

-

**Chapter 5**

_Sick, sick, sick... _

Alex's head was pounding and he was shivering uncontrollably. He wasn't cold though; in fact he was feeling overheated. He groaned and tried to roll to his side but was stopped by a sharp pain in his wrist. He immediately recognised it as the cutting metal edge of a handcuff. He dared to open an eye then, and was grateful to find only dim light.

"Where am I?" he croaked, turning his pounding head around what looked like a cheap hostel room. Through the gloom his eyes quickly fell on the The Gentleman, sitting in an armchair, watching him intently. Behind the assassin, reddish light flowed into the small room through a circular window. Alex groaned again and brought up his knees to alleviate some of the burning pain that seemed to be spreading like molten lava across his entire body.

"We're in Oslo - I've transferred you onto a new ship and in a few hours we will be departing. From now on we will be travelling in the open. Hiding in plain sight. You have a new identity: Alex Jenkins. We will be travelling as father and son. You will not try to escape or to ask anyone for help. You will do as you're told, or the consequences for disobeying will be ... severe."

Alex felt a flash of hope through his nausea. Travelling in the open would provide ample opportunities to escape. He just needed to convince The Gentleman to let down his guard. "Teenagers always disobey their parents," Alex muttered.

A strange expression crossed The Gentlemen's face. He looked thoughtful and almost nostalgic, as though momentarily locked in a distant memory. Then his eyes flashed maliciously as he looked back down on Alex. "I wouldn't have thought _you _knew anything about parents," he sneered.

Alex ignored the cruel jibe. Instead he asked how The Gentleman had managed to get him on board a public cruise ship. "You staggered along like a good lad," his captor explained with an amused glint in his eye. "People felt a bit sorry for me. How embarrassing to be starting my family holiday with such a drunken idiot of a son."

Alex hated the idea that his body would betray him like that; that his legs could function when his mind was numbed by the drug. "No more injections," he hissed. It was meant to come out as an order, but instead it sounded very much like a plea. The Gentleman chuckled. "That's up to you, Alex. Do as you're told and no one will get hurt."

_... until you hand me over to the Australian, _Alex completed inwardly. The thought terrified him more than he cared to admit.

He knew that time was of essence and he needed to keep his senses alert for any opportunity to escape. It was a large commercial cruise liner, sailing from Oslo Port to Tallinn. A short route, but it would take the ship three days to complete its journey as it was a touristic pleasure cruise in no hurry. Inside the cabin, Alex was to remain handcuffed to the rail of the bunk at all times other than when using the bathroom. Unfortunately, he quickly established that there was nothing he could use to escape in the bathroom and the small round porthole window was too small for him to climb out.

He would be allowed outside the cabin for meals, always in the company of The Gentleman. It was made clear to him that any escape attempt would lead to the immediate deaths of many innocent tourists ... and later on the death of Jack. Alex felt subdued by the strangeness of travelling with his enemy like this. The Gentleman kept attempting to engage him in mundane conversation, but Alex refused to talk with him. It was too _weird_. During dinner, he knew he probably looked like just another teenage brat being rude to their parent.

He had still been feeling sick on the first night and hadn't been able to eat much or to get much bearing for his surroundings. By morning, however, he was alert and ready, having slept off most of the side effects of the sedative. He walked beside The Gentleman to the breakfast room, looking around for anyone or anything that might turn out to be useful for his escape. A pretty girl of his own age caught his eye in the corridor, but he turned away from her flirtatious smile, unwilling to risk drawing any attention towards her. Never had he felt so trapped without being restrained, but there was simply nowhere for him to go! Stuck on a boat, with so many people who could be hurt if he made a wrong move; it was horrible.

He sat opposite The Gentleman and studied the menu. Around them, the other passengers chatted away happily, occasionally pointing out of the large bay windows that gave them an amazing view of the coastline. But Alex had no interest in looking out of the window. An idea was hatching in his mind... A plan to get help and escape.

"Good morning, my name is Steven."

Alex startled and looked up. The voice belonged to a young waiter. His accent had an American tinge but he was clearly Scandinavian. "May I take your breakfast order?"

The Gentleman asked only for a pot of tea. "Alex?" he prompted when Alex continued to look down at the menu.

"Ham…" Alex started, realising with surprise that he was actually very hungry. "And eggs and lox. And a peppermint tea to drink."

Steven took the menus with him when he left, leaving nothing on the table to block Alex's view of The Gentleman. He turned to the window instead, wishing he was able to appreciate the view. He'd never seen anything quite like it, snowy fjords meeting grey, icy water.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" The Gentleman suddenly said. Alex scowled and refused to look to his captor. By the time Steven returned with their order, his neck felt quite stiff. But it had been better than playing The Gentleman's perverse little game of father and son. Now he was forced to attend to his plate.

"Don't eat too fast," The Gentleman warned, and Alex knew he was referring to the lingering side effects of the drug. He slowed down, but polished off his plate, savouring every single bite. Afterwards, he stretched his tired muscles and looked longingly at the passengers strolling on the deck.

His legs ached with the need to exercise properly; his lungs burnt with the desire for crisp, fresh air. "Can I go for a walk on the deck, later?" he blurted out, regretting his plea almost immediately.

The Gentleman's soft grey eyes settled on him and for once Alex did not look away. He swallowed heavily and waited. "I don't think so," The Gentleman finally decided. "I have heard stories about your resourcefulness. I think it would be safer for everyone here if you—"

He paused for a moment as a family walked by their table, then finished: "If you remain contained."

It was what Alex had expected, but he still felt a pang of disappointment. His limbs felt tired as they returned to the cabin. He considered arguing over the handcuff but knew it would be counterproductive – he needed The Gentleman to underestimate him, not be angry with him. So after he'd used the bathroom, he sat down on the bunk and let The Gentleman fasten the cuffs around his wrists again, with the chain through the bedrail. His shoulder muscles screamed at being forced back into the same arrangement but he did not let his discomfort show. Instead he lent against the wall and tried to find a semi-comfortable position.

The Gentleman then pulled out a knotted length of rope and approached Alex. "Do you know what this is?" he asked. Alex could see red stains on the rope. It looked like it had been used as a garrotte, but surely it was too thick? He shook his head. The Gentleman chuckled softly. "It's a gag, Alex. A rather good gag made of very soft hemp; but the knots stop the _victim_ from getting a good grip on it. It makes screaming difficult, although that never stops people from trying of course."

"No," Alex whispered. "I promise, I won—"

"Do I need to sedate you?"

He shook his head again. It took all his resolve to stay still while The Gentleman tied the knotted rope gag around his head, pulling it so tight it felt like the sides of his lips were already splitting. "I'll be back before lunch," The Gentleman promised, ruffling his hair. The touch was too familiar and Alex recoiled, bringing his legs against his chest and glowering at his captor.

His position soon became painful and Alex could feel his knees and hips aching. His face hurt too, where the knots of the gag cut into his skin. In the end, he had no choice but to lie down on the bed and hold onto the rail in an attempt to minimise the pressure both on his wrists and on the rest of his body.

He stayed like that until The Gentleman returned, even succumbing to the rocking of the boat a few times and drifting off. He appreciated the softness of the mattress and the heat of the cabin in contrast to the container he'd been forced to live in for the last three days. But he appreciated being released even more and examined the red marks on his wrists with a scowl. There had been red marks around his mouth too, from the gag, but after splashing some cold water on his face they had almost faded.

"Feeling sorry for yourself?" The Gentleman asked.

Alex let his sleeves fall back over his damaged wrists. "I don't suppose it matters, does it?" he snapped angrily. "Every hour brings me closer to him. And then …" He shuddered. _Then a few red marks would be nothing compared to what the Australian would put him through. _His knee gave a twinge of remembered pain and Alex had to grab the back of a chair to steady himself.

The Gentleman's teeth glinted as he smiled. He seemed to be amused by Alex's train of thought. "Indeed," he agreed pleasantly. "How about some lunch?"

Alex didn't really feel hungry, but any excuse to leave the cabin needed to be seized. He made the most of the walk and was quite disappointed when the lunch hall turned out to be much closer than the breakfast room. He'd been looking forward to a longer walk. Steven was their waiter again and despite his lack of hunger, Alex made a large order. "Hamburger … with extra cheese and ... errrr ... a lasagne and a Pepsi."

The Gentleman raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He ordered only a soup and another pot of tea. Through the windows, Alex established that they were in open water at the moment. It was a clear day, and he could see land in the distance, but it was far away. Too far to swim… He frowned at the idea, and wondered if he'd be brave enough to throw himself into the icy sea if it came down to it...

Steven returned quickly with their meals. Alex reached out to take a plate but almost dropped it as his sleeve fell back up his arm. Steven's gaze immediately settled on the chaffed skin at Alex's wrist and their eyes met for a moment that felt frozen in time. The Gentleman cleared his throat. Alex put down the plate with the hamburger and pushed his sleeve back into place; his throat felt dry.

"I am sorry," The Gentleman spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Steven placed the rest of the plates on the table. He looked politely interested, and was clearly trying not to stare at Alex. "My son. He is very troubled," The Gentleman explained, shrugging as though he was a little embarrassed by the whole situation. Steven nodded curtly, as though in understanding of a father's shame for his emotionally disturbed son, and hurried away from the table.

The meal passed in silence. Alex kept waiting for The Gentleman to say something, but he never did. He simply looked out over the lunch hall, watching the waiters go about their job with a thoughtful expression on his face. After they had finished their meal, they headed back to the cabin. Alex didn't dare to repeat his request to have a stroll on the deck. He wasn't sure what The Gentleman's silence indicated. Was the man waiting to be in private to punish Alex? He felt the dread rising in his stomach as they approached the cabin and as soon as they'd stepped into the little room he spun to face The Gentleman.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" he exclaimed defensively, before The Gentleman could even say anything. "I don't think he suspected anything! Don't hurt him, _please!_"

The Gentleman shrugged. He locked the cabin door and then spun round with unexpected agility, driving Alex back against the wall with a hand on his throat.

"Shut up. Get on the bed," The Gentleman hissed, throwing Alex to one side. Alex scrambled up onto the bed, heart thumping wildly. Although The Gentleman hadn't actually strangled him, Alex could feel the ghost of the hand against his windpipe, the threat explicit and immediate. He kept his gaze low as The Gentleman fastened his handcuffs and gag, not wanting to provoke his captor. He watched apprehensively as The Gentleman left the room, gut churning at the thought that The Gentleman might be seeking out their young waiter to make true his promise.

The afternoon hours seemed to take forever. At least in the shipping container, Alex had been able to move freely to distract himself. By the time it was evening, Alex felt like he had gone mad, not just from fear of what was happening outside, but also from the recurrent cramps in his muscles. But The Gentleman said nothing when he returned. He looked as calm as ever as he released Alex and sent him to the bathroom to wash and get ready for dinner. Alex remembered the way to the dinner hall; it was a long walk that took them right through the promenade area of the cruise liner. There were shops here, and Alex slowed down the pace of their walking by pretending to be distracted by their wares. In reality he was savouring every step, stretching out each muscle as fully as possible.

He felt a jolt of fear when he saw they had a different waiter, a gap year student called Anya. He wanted to ask The Gentleman what, if anything, had happened to Steven, but was too scared to bring up the subject. Anya took their order efficiently and with a smile. Haricot salad with Emmental cheese for starters, followed by linguine for his main course. And a Pepsi of course. Alex was careful to hide his wrists as the food was served. He also felt acutely aware of his chapped lips. He could feel a little piece of dried skin hanging down over his mouth. He wanted to tear it off, but didn't want to attract any attention by bleeding. The Gentleman seemed as unperturbed as ever, as though he didn't notice his captive's discomfort, or more likely he simply didn't care.

They ate in silence, which Alex found infinitely preferable to The Gentleman's pseudo-conversation. It wasn't like he could ask the questions he wanted to know the answer to anyway. Instead, Alex watched the hustle and bustle of the hall. And then a flood of relief suddenly rushed through him, so strong he actually felt faint: Steven had just entered the dining hall. Unharmed. He started work at tables on the other side of the hall but looked up towards Alex's table a few times, almost as though he could tell this strange blond boy was thinking about him. Just as they were about to leave, Steven came over into their section and approached their table. The Gentleman shot Alex a warning glare and Alex held his breath, hardly daring to look up to meet the waiter's eye.

"Sorry to trouble you," Steven started. He seemed nervous, his accent stronger than usual. "I was just looking over your bill with Anya." He gestured at his colleague as he spoke. "We were not sure of your cabin number. The system seems to have jumbled some of the data."

The Gentleman's face instantly relaxed and Alex felt a twinge of disappointment. "Cabin 241," The Gentleman confirmed.

And indeed it was to cabin 241 that they returned. The day before, The Gentleman had stayed out in the ship bar until the early hours of morning, and it seemed like he had similar plans again, for he trussed Alex up on the bed and then left the room.

It was dark outside and lulled by the rocking of the ship, it wasn't long before Alex fell into a restless sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness as his body refused to completely let down its guard. He dreamt of explosions and gunfire and _– click! –_ Alex's eyes snapped open. That had definitely been the sound of a key turning in the cabin door lock. He shivered in anticipation of the return of his captor. He hadn't been left for as long as he'd expected; maybe an hour at most. But when the light came on, he saw that the person who had just let himself into the cabin was not The Gentleman.

_It was Steven. _

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Chapter Notes:

I apologise in advance. I'm sorry, Alex.

-

**Chapter 6**

Steven stood frozen in the doorway of the cabin, staring at Alex who was tied and gagged on the bed. His face was a mask of horror and confusion. Although The Gentleman was not in sight, Alex knew that the assassin was not the type to leave anything to chance.

_"Get out!"_ Alex screamed against the gag. But of course Steven couldn't understand him and strode across the cabin to the bunk. He fiddled with the knot behind Alex's head and managed to remove the gag.

"Get help! Be careful! He's dangerous!" Alex shouted. Steven touched the metal cuffs around Alex's wrists. He looked pale and shocked, completely out of his depth. "Is there a key?"

"No! You have to go now! Get security, police, coastguards! Go _now!_"

Steven hesitated. It was only a moment, but it was a moment too long. The cabin door suddenly slammed shut and when Steven spun round, Alex could see the tall figure of The Gentleman standing between them and the closed _– locked – _door.

"What's going on here?" The Gentleman asked. His tone was as conversational as ever.

Steven immediately straightened to full height, clearly trying to pull himself together. "Sir, your … son. You cannot keep him like this!" His voice was unsure, showing his confusion. The Gentleman put up his hands and shrugged. "It's truly a shame that you had to see this," his eyes darted to the waiter's name tag, "Steven. Did my son ask for your help or did you come here of your own accord?"

Steven seemed not to know what to say. Then he hesitantly pulled some papers from his breast pocket and handed them to The Gentleman. Alex thought his heart had just stopped beating. His mouth had gone completely dry. He watched The Gentleman read what Alex knew were the receipts from their meals. He knew The Gentleman would see the consistent message in his order. Then The Gentleman looked directly at Alex. "Ingenious," he muttered.

"I am going to get security," Steven announced loudly, clearly coming to a decision about the situation. He had started moving towards the door, but found his path blocked by The Gentleman. His expression had hardened. Alex struggled against his handcuffs, twisting wildly and yanking against the rail. This would be his only chance – maybe his _last_ chance. He screamed loudly: _"Fire! Help!"_

He wasn't sure how The Gentleman managed to move so quickly from Steven to him, but obviously he must have, for the next thing Alex felt was an unforgiving blow to the temple. His cries died off in a high-pitched yelp and he fell back, vision swimming. A second blow hit the side of his head and everything went black. He was still conscious, but his eyes weren't cooperating; weren't seeing! His mouth wasn't working, either. He could hardly breathe, let alone call for help. He didn't know what had happened to Steven and wasn't sure he wanted to. He couldn't _hear_ anything! He could only hope that someone had heard his screams … or rather that enough people had heard that they would be able to overpower The Gentleman and rescue Alex. And ... _Jack._

And then suddenly it felt as though Alex's entire world had tilted upside down. He felt bile rising in his throat as a wave of dizziness overcame him. It was like he was floating, then falling...

He gave in to the pull of unconsciousness.

***

Alex knew he was conscious only because he could feel something thudding against the side of his face – it was his own pulse, bouncing between his temple and the mattress. It felt as though it was lifting him with each beat of his heart. And it hurt. The side of his face felt swollen and he could taste blood.

He stayed still for another minute, but then shifted and forced his swollen eyes to open. The first thing he saw was a splatter of blood on the previously clean white mattress. He didn't have time to dwell on it however, for The Gentleman immediately noticed him.

"Ah, Alex. Kind of you to join us. Sit up, please."

It was then that Alex realised he was no longer handcuffed. His cuffs now restrained Steven, who sat cross legged on the floor, pale and terrified. He sported a fresh bruise on the side of his face and the M9 was pointed at the back of his head.

Alex did as he was told.

"So." The Gentleman stared at Alex as he talked. "You decided it was a good idea to contact your little friend here?"

Alex licked his lips, but it felt like he had no moisture left in his mouth. He forced himself to look into Steven's terrified eyes. "It was an accident," he finally said.

"An accident? Crying for help was an _accident?_ Did I not tell you what would happen if you tried to do something like this?"

"Please," Alex said, though it was more of a whimper.

The Gentleman's eyes never left Alex, though. "This has nothing to do with you, Steven. You could not possibly begin to understand what is going on here. I suppose you thought you were helping my _poor, abused_ son? For this good intention, I will let you live."

Alex felt a flash of hope, mirrored in the relief visible on Steven's face.

"However," The Gentleman continued, "you understand I cannot simply let you go. Not until we are long gone."

"I promise I won't say anything to anyone," Steven breathed.

"I know," The Gentleman agreed. "Alex, go to my bag and retrieve the small silver case."

Alex walked on shaky legs. His head pounded and he could feel sticky blood on the side of his face. He found the silver case easily enough. From inside it, The Gentleman retrieved a familiar looking syringe and opened a new needle. "Don't worry," The Gentleman said soothingly when Steven shifted to see what was happening behind him. "It's a harmless sedative. It will ensure your silence."

Still holding the pistol in his right hand, he used his left to stab the needle into Steven's shoulder. The blond waiter swayed for a few seconds, then fell to one side. Alex sympathised. It was strange to see another person under the influence of the drug and he could almost taste the memory of its effects.

"You're letting him live?" Alex asked hesitantly, wincing at the click in his jaw when he spoke. The Gentleman retrieved the handcuffs from the unconscious Steven and threw them at Alex. "Don't be stupid. He goes into the sea."

Alex felt a strange sob working its way to the surface. "No," he pleaded. "Please. It wasn't his fault. Please…"

"Maybe you should have thought about that beforehand. I keep my promises, Alex Rider. He won't know anything. You know how effective this drug is. He'll die painlessly. Rather Steven than Jack, right?"

Alex moaned softly. It wasn't fair! He couldn't bring himself to look at Steven. He hated himself. With a roar of fury, he threw the handcuffs to one side and tackled The Gentleman. The man had clearly not been expecting the attack; he fell back against the wall and for one glorious moment, Alex was overpowering him with a practised karate move. And then The Gentleman countered the move with a strike of his own, aiming for the injured side of Alex's head. Alex reeled with the hit, but managed to dodge a second blow. He kept his balance and used this to spring at The Gentleman again, using his entire body weight to drive his opponent to the ground. He backed up the move with a knee to the stomach and was gratified to hear The Gentleman grunt.

_"Help!"_ Alex screamed as loud as he could, fuelled by fear and panic. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep the upper hand for long. Indeed, his shout seemed to spur The Gentleman into action. He gripped Alex's hair with both hands and managed to drag Alex to one side. Eyes watering, Alex punched blindly to release the grip, but succeeded only in further annoying The Gentleman. Suddenly their situation was reversed and Alex found himself pinned beneath the taller man. There was a hand on his throat; the other was covering his mouth. He bit hard, but this only made the hand on his throat tighten excruciatingly, cutting off his air, stealing his strength. His head was being slammed against the floor over and over until he was seeing stars. His limbs no longer did as they were told and he became limp all over.

Dazed and breathless, Alex was not able to resist as The Gentleman flipped Alex around again and held his arms tight behind his back. The Gentleman seemed ruffled and he too was panting, but he still had enough strength to drag Alex to the bathroom and heave him bodily into the bathtub. Alex tried to fight, but his head was slammed into the tiles. He was tasting blood now and the pounding in his head was worse than ever, the pain echoing the wild beat of his heart. He heard the metal click again and realised he'd been cuffed to a handle fixed to the side of the tub.

The position was awkward; he was stuck, quasi-face down and able to turn his head only in one direction. He could see fresh blood dripping down on the white enamel of the tub and knew his face must look like a mess. That seemed to be the least of his problems.

"You're annoying me, now. Maybe this will cool down your hot head a little," The Gentleman stated. He disappeared for a moment and returned with the knotted gag, which he fastened tightly around Alex's head, ignoring the small cry of pain Alex couldn't quite hold back. Then he turned on the cold water and left the bathroom.

The water spouted out of the tap quickly – too quickly. It was freezing cold and it was filling the bathtub fast. Alex screamed against his gag but the sound was muffled and the rope tore at his lips and jaw. Already the water was up to his knees. Cold was seeping through his jeans. Soon it was lapping at his thighs. Alex shivered and tried screaming again; he couldn't help himself; the sight of the water rising higher and higher made him almost tetanic with fear. He remembered being locked in the Scorpia room in Venice, thinking he was going to die; remembered his lucky escape through the pipes. Here he was trapped and the water was up to his stomach now, swirling around him and biting him like a thousand little teeth.

When the water had reached his chin, Alex gave in to something primitive. Survival instinct took over and he thrashed madly, twisting at every angle to keep himself over the ever-rising threat. There was nothing he could do, however, and suddenly his face was enveloped in freezing liquid. It seeped into his mouth around the gag, burnt his injured face. He held his breath then gathered all his strength to throw his head back and above the water level one last time, gulping what air he could before his neck muscles cramped and he was forced to drop down again. It was tickling his nose, taunting him, playing before the kill.

Just as bubbles of spent air started escaping Alex's lungs, his head was suddenly yanked up at an impossible angle. The Gentleman had come back and pulled his head out of the water by the hair, forcing his spine to arch painfully. Alex panted desperately, shivering and whimpering uncontrollably.

And then The Gentleman used the grip in his hair to push him back under and hold him down. The pressure on the back of his head was almost more than Alex could bear. He thrashed with any strength he had left, which wasn't much. Stars flashed in his vision, exploding like miniature fireworks. He felt himself drifting from lack of oxygen, although the primitive part of his brain still refused to breathe in under water.

Suddenly, the cold felt less cold. It felt almost comfortable in a numbing sort of way. Alex stopped thrashing. He deserved this. This was how Steven was going to die and his body would probably never be found. His family would never know what had happened to their son; what a hero he'd been in his last moments. Alex exhaled then. He had only a few more seconds like this before his lungs would automatically spasm, draw in the freezing water and he would drown. There was a strange thudding inside his head like the pressure was banging on the inside of his skull to be let out.

His lungs had just reached the limit of their physical ability when his head was yanked from the water again. Alex gasped in so much air it hurt him. He blinked away the water dripping from his fringe into his eyes and saw a red tinge in the water. Blood, his blood … It was flowing down his arms and swirling around like little tendrils, dripping from his face. But he felt no pain. The cold water had numbed everything. His hair was abruptly let go, and Alex prepared to hit the water again. But it was only up to his neck now. The Gentleman must have released the plug.

Alex felt relief like he hadn't in a long time. It was like a crushing stone had been lifted from his heart and he sagged in his cuffs. The cold was returning as quickly as the water was leaving and his entire body seemed to have started shivering. The Gentleman carded his fingers through Alex's hair in a touch so soothing and reassuring that Alex wasn't sure whether he should cry or laugh. In lieu, he hiccoughed and bit back a sob. The Gentleman stroked the nape of his neck but Alex was too weak to protest through the gag. "You are a strong lad," The Gentleman praised. There was admiration and _pride_ in his voice, as though Alex had somehow greatly pleased him. "Your father would have been so proud of you."

For once, Alex felt nothing at the mention of his father ... just another Scorpia bastard. The Gentleman left the bathroom. Alex knew his captor needed to get rid of Steven – _murder Steven. _He cried silently as he heard the cabin door close and promised himself never to underestimate the cruelty of ... Scorpia, assassins ..._ people like his father._

-

_Chapter End Notes:_

_To be continued ..._


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Chapter Notes:

So glad everyone liked the last chapter. It was necessarily to rough Alex up a little to help him gain some perspective. He's not invincible ... but he's pretty damn resilient! Hopefully I can keep up the pace now -- look forward to hearing what you all think! xx

-

**Chapter 7**

The Gentleman did not return to the cabin for many hours, and when he finally came back, he did not look into the bathroom. Alex couldn't move from his face-down position, knees tucked up at an awkward angle. He tried to sleep but he was too cold and too shocked by what had happened. He could hear the waves lapping at the sides of the boat and imagined Steven's corpse floating around between icebergs. He was assaulted by terrible thoughts; of the Australian, The Gentleman ... his father... How many people had his father tortured? Would he care about his only son being roughed up like this, or would be think it was an important lesson that Alex had to learn?

The next morning, The Gentleman finally came into the bathroom and Alex was horrified to find his body shrinking away from the man, as though conditioned into fear by its near death experience. The Gentleman did not even look at him, however; he merely performed his morning ablutions and disappeared again. The water in the tub had long dried, but Alex still felt cold. And ashamed. He had been forced to relieve himself where he lay and the whole bathroom stank of urine. It stank of fear.

The Gentleman did not move, feed or even address Alex for the remainder of their cruise. By the end of the third day, Alex felt nauseous with hunger and shame. He'd been able to hold his bowel but the pressure was acute; almost as acute as the pain in his wrists and shoulders. The rest of his body hurt too; stiff with misuse and numb with cold, he wondered if his limbs were ever going to function again. He'd just about managed to stop tears from leaking from his eyes and it felt like he was holding onto the last vestige of his pride.

At long last The Gentleman turned up with the handcuff key. He released Alex and let him remove the gag. It came away with flecks of blood and dried skin stuck to it. Alex cringed when The Gentleman moved towards him again, but the man only examined his face, gripping his jaw in an iron grasp and running his fingers over his injuries and bruises before nodding. "Wash, Alex. We are arriving in a few hours. Here are some new clothes for you to wear. I expect you to look presentable."

Easier said than done, Alex thought as he looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't recognise the hollow look in his eyes until he realised it was genuine fear. Greater fear, even, than he had felt for the Australian, who at least had admitted some form of open agenda that required Alex's continued survival. For the last twenty four hours, Alex's nightmares had no longer featured the Australian, but deep, dark, inescapable expanses of water…

Still, he managed to make the most of his shower, washing away the stench of blood and fear. His wrists looked mangled, flaps of skin hanging loosely over open wounds. His face sported numerous cuts and some impressive bruises. But he felt considerably more alive once he'd changed into the new clothes, which had evidently been purchased at one of the designer boutiques on the shopping deck. White shirt and black trousers complete with new underwear and shoes and a new black jacket. They were better than the filthy combats he'd been wearing since his escape. He emerged from the bathroom to find The Gentleman reading a morning paper. The man looked him up and down then nodded his satisfaction. "I trust you're not going to give me any trouble as we disembark?" he asked casually. Alex shook his head. He'd learnt that lesson for now.

Alex felt horribly subdued as he followed The Gentleman through the passport check at the harbour. He hardly recognised himself; he felt somehow small, insignificant. He knew that part of it was guilt over Steven's death. But another part was fear. Not just fear for the people around - The Gentleman would have no problem in taking out these happy families - but fear for _himself._ It was a new sensation and he felt almost ashamed of himself for keeping his eyes down as he handed over his passport.

Once on the other side, it was a just short coach journey to the centre of Tallinn. Alex had never visited the city before and he felt very far away from home. Despite knowing that his time was running out, he seemed unable to think of any grand escape; unable to make a _move!_ His apprehension at meeting the Australian again was rising with every passing minute. The man would not be impressed by what had happened after Alex and Yassen's kidnapping in the Blackwall Tunnel. But his fear of defying The Gentleman was just as bad. He was forced to obey.

"Is _he_ meeting us?" he asked, tensing against the quiver that seemed to try to take over his voice.

The Gentleman shook his head casually. "He will have sent a driver for you."

Alex saw the black limousine as soon as he stepped out of the coach. He suddenly wondered why he had been so stupid to comply when he should have been fighting for his life ... even if it _cost_ him his life! The Gentleman seemed amused by Alex's sudden inability to take another step. "What has he done to you?" he mused aloud. Alex gritted his teeth. _Good question. Why was he so scared of the Australian? Was it because the man had overpowered him so easily; had hurt him so ruthlessly?_ They were all the same, these Scorpia bastards, relying on fear and terror to get what they wanted.

With sudden resolve, Alex strode to the car and yanked open the passenger door. He glanced at The Gentleman for a moment and forced himself to think of Margreta and Steven; to remember how scared he'd been in the bath thinking he was going to drown ... and then die shivering in a pool of his own piss.

Yes. The Gentlemen was infinitely more terrifying than the Australian, he decided. The Gentleman smiled as cheerfully as ever, and Alex heard him say: _"I'll send flowers!" _And then Alex had finally had enough. He got into the car and slammed the door, heart pounding wildly against his chest.

The door locked automatically and Alex risked a look at his driver. The bloke looked exactly as Alex would have imagined: tall, bulky and expressionless.

"Where are we going?" Alex tried. The man did not seem to hear. His eyes were focussed on the road ahead, his face impassive and uninterested.

It was a silent journey. They drove for about thirty minutes. Outside, a pale sun cast elongated shadows across frosty fields. The inside of the car was warm, but no fire on earth could have melted the ice curling in Alex's veins. He felt stiff with apprehensive anticipation. While in military custody, he'd imagined what he would say if, or when, he crossed paths with the Australian. He'd decided he would blame Yassen for everything. He would say the distraction hadn't been his fault. Not _really_. And since MI6 didn't want him anymore, maybe he would offer to work for Scorpia. He bit back a sob. No. He would never work for Scorpia. He'd rather die. He just hoped they wouldn't torture him first. He could feel his fingers curling at the mere thought of it and another hysterical sob threatened to bubble to the surface. But he refused to cry. Not now. Not here, in front of this huge oaf of a driver! He needed to stop working himself up, so he stared out at the frosty landscape and tried to memorise their route. _Just in case_.

Alex wasn't sure what he'd been expecting; maybe some fancy Scorpia stronghold like the one in the Irish Sea. But whatever he'd expected, it wasn't _this_. The building they pulled up in front of looked like an ordinary farmhouse. It was surrounded by snow-sprinkled fields and it smelt of cows. The driver unlocked the doors and grunted, pointing towards the door of the farmhouse.

"Aren't you coming?" Alex asked, but once again it was like talking to a wall. The driver sat motionless, watching as Alex slowly made his way to the single storey house. Once there, Alex wondered if he should knock, but the door opened of its own accord. He stepped inside, turning in time to see a glimpse of the driver just as the door closed again, leaving him in some kind of small antechamber. It was chilly inside the house. And quite gloomy, a stark contrast to the light winter sun outside. Alex stood still for a moment, lost and confused. Then he took a tentative step forwards. He felt a little queasy. There were three wooden doors to choose from, and the situation reminded him too much of the real world video game in which Damian Cray had forced him to fight for his life. Here he felt that same uncomfortable loss of reality.

"Hello?" he finally called out, unsurprised when there was no answer. He took another step, finally deciding on the middle door. The knob turned easily in his hand and the door swung open. Immediately a rush of heat greeted Alex and he could see he had stepped into a kitchen. An old lady stood by an Aga cooker. She looked up and stared straight at Alex for a few seconds then went back to stirring something in a large pot.

"Uhm. Hello?" Alex said, more confused than ever. Maybe the Australian was testing him? Or just playing with him...

"Sasha," she finally acknowledged, not looking up again. Alex's mouth felt dry. He knew that 'Sasha' was the Russian diminutive for 'Alexander'. What the hell was going on here?

"Sidet," the woman said, gesturing towards a wooden bench. Alex sat down. "Ghditye," she ordered and Alex assumed he was to stay where he was. The woman nodded in approval when he didn't move. She went back to the Aga and emptied the contents of the pot into two bowls. One she placed in front of Alex, also handing him a spoon. If Scorpia intended to poison him with onion soup, Alex thought they'd gone through an awful lot of trouble to get him here! It was probably safe to eat. And it was delicious too, warming his cold body from the inside, making the aches and pains go away. She smiled as he ate, and Alex couldn't help but think it was a genuine smile.

He'd almost finished his soup when he heard the front door close with a bang. Instantly alert, he scanned the kitchen for a knife or something ... anything! But he didn't even have time to get up before the new arrival strode into the kitchen. And Alex could have cried when he saw who it was.

_"Yassen!"_

Yassen Gregorovich looked as impassive as ever, but Alex thought he recognised a small hint of relief in his pale blue eyes. "You are here at last."

He had a very brief conversation in Russian with the woman. Alex couldn't catch a single word; they simply spoke too fast. Then the woman left and Yassen turned back to Alex. "You are injured?" he asked, staring pointedly at Alex's beaten face.

"Not really. Wasn't the most pleasant journey."

"I am sorry. It was necessary to bring you to me."

Alex snorted. He savoured the last mouthful of soup. "So you had me kidnapped? Again? You could have just called. I'd have come, you know."

"Would you? You did not seem so keen on our association last time we met," Yassen responded. He picked up the second bowl of soup and joined Alex at the table. "You walked away from me, little Alex."

"Yeah. That was before MI6 branded me a terrorist. They think I'm no better than _you_. How did you know I was escaping? The Gentleman," Alex shuddered, "he was at the airport. He knew I'd be there."

Yassen smiled a little then. He looked pleased with himself. "Alex Rider. You emit two signals everywhere you go. And your housekeeper was very helpful too, once I explained that I had your welfare at heart."

"Can Scorpia still track me?"

"Not right now," Yassen explained. "My ... _colleague's_ EMP took out their signal. And the MI6 tracker is still scrambled. I am the only one who can decode it now, so I am the only one from whom you cannot hide."

"Perish the thought," Alex muttered. And then he was struck by a terrible realisation. "You didn't hurt Jack, did you?"

"Alex, my little Alex. I did not need to hurt her. It was clear to me that MI6 were not going to be releasing you any time soon after what occurred in London. She helped me to organise your escape. Not the fine detail of course; but I planted the seed in her mind, made sure your fake passport was still valid..."

Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Thanks, I guess. Why?"

"Because we are the same. I have made an enemy out of my people. You have made an enemy out of yours."

"We're not the same," Alex retaliated sharply, but Yassen only smiled.

"Seriously. People died to get me here. _Nice_ people. I'm not happy about that."

Yassen's smiled dropped then. "In a war there are casualties, Alex. You will learn to accept this."

"Right, we'll see. What happens now?"

"Now? You help me destroy Scorpia of course. I thought you'd already worked this out? As long as Scorpia is functional neither of us will be safe."

Alex felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. _Destroy Scorpia. Once and for all. _He couldn't even fathom what that would entail. All he knew was that as a fugitive from his own government with more enemies than friends on the ground, he had no choice but to do whatever Yassen wanted him to.

Nevertheless, he slept surprisingly well that night. He had his own room, admittedly only one door down from Yassen's, but it was the first comfortable privacy he'd had in days. The mattress was soft, the duvet and pillows were real down, and he was so exhausted from the discomfort of a week spent in restraints, drugged, beaten and gagged, that he was asleep almost as soon as he lay down. He slept for a long time too, for the sun was already high when he awoke the next day. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the house, only partly tarnished by the smell of cows that seemed to permeate every inch of the farm.

Yassen was already in the kitchen, eating breakfast. It seemed strange to Alex that assassins – The Gentleman, Yassen ... probably his father – should eat meals like normal people. He watched as Yassen used a completely unsuitable sharp knife to smear butter onto his bread, struck by the knowledge that this man would have no problems using that same knife to take someone's life. Slice their throat, maybe, or stab them in the heart and watch the life bleed out of them...

"Could you kill me?" he suddenly blurted out, instantly regretting his words. _What a stupid thing to say!_

Yassen swallowed his mouthful. "Kill you? Why?" He looked genuinely confused.

"I mean. You get paid to kill people. Yo—"

He couldn't say it. Keeping his gaze averted he tore off a chunk of bread and bit into it. "If ... could you kill me?" he managed to mumble around the bread, the words so fast they blurred into each other. He felt sick suddenly, and put down the bread. He traced the vicious bruises on his arm, trailing a finger along the damaged flaps of skin left by the cutting edges of the handcuffs. The Gentleman would have happily killed him. How could anyone ever trust an assassin?

But Yassen was laughing, his head thrown back and his entire body shaking with mirth. "You are a very strange boy, little Alex. Of course I would not kill you."

"That's not what I asked."

And Alex's tone was so deadly serious that Yassen sobered up, his face returning to its usual hard lines. "Then ask again. Clearly."

Alex pressed a fingernail into a particularly deep cut on his wrist. Even as he winced, he said: "_Could_ you kill me. Could you do it? If you had to. If I was going to kill you or something? I don't know. Could you do it? Take my life?"

Yassen frowned, then made an almost imperceptible head movement. "Yes. If I had to, I could take your life."

"Like you took Ian's."

The temperature in the kitchen seemed to plummet. Then Yassen assented. "Yes, Alex. Just like that."

Yassen's words echoed The Gentleman's after he had killed Margreta and the conversation had clearly run its course. So had breakfast. Alex didn't feel hungry any more. He continued examining the bruises on his arms. He could feel matching bruises on his face, on his torso. The aches and pains were creeping back and he wanted nothing more than to stretch his legs. "Can I go for a run?" he asked, already sure of the answer. But to his surprise, Yassen put down the remainder of his bread and nodded. "I'll come with you."

The countryside was beautiful, white with a dusting of icy snow. It was cold, but Alex soon warmed up. It was no surprise to him that Yassen jogged at a fast pace with seeming effortless grace. And that was _after_ breakfast. They'd covered only about two miles before Alex started feeling the familiar pressure in his lungs. His legs burnt with lactic acid. He broke into a walk, embarrassed. "Haven't had much exercise recently," he snapped defensively before Yassen could say anything. "And I've had surgery on my knee. And that bastard who kidnapped me for _you_ wasn't exactly kind to me, either." He added the last part as though to remind Yassen of his role in Alex's condition.

"I would always do everything in my power to not have to kill you," Yassen suddenly said, ignoring Alex's not so veiled accusation. He'd turned to look at Alex as they walked and he appeared thoughtful. "But to bring down Scorpia is a risky operation, and there is a high chance that one of us, or both, will not survive."

Alex knew it of course, but hearing it so bluntly made him feel cold inside. He started jogging again. "What's the plan?"

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Chapter Notes:

We've come to a crossroad, people - Alex has things to learn and decisions to make. The one thing I can promise you is that things are really about to kick off. Thanks for all your support. I need it! And the writing is getting harder ...

-

**Chapter 8**

It turned out that the plan was very simple. It also turned out that the plan depended pretty much entirely on Alex being _Alex_. Yassen didn't apologise for intending to use him like that ... and somehow Alex felt less offended than if it had been MI6. At least one expected a certain amount of abuse from the bad guys, and Yassen was undeniably, whatever their uneasy alliance, one of the bad guys.

They stayed at the farmhouse for another night and were ready to leave early the next morning. Dawn was only just breaking when the driver turned up with the car. He did not come with them, however. Yassen drove. "We are not going far. Two hours, maybe," he explained when they hit the main road, where they joined a fast moving stream of morning traffic. Their car was one of the newest on the road by far. There were a few Western European cars, but mostly the people here drove ancient Volgas and their smaller, more rickety looking counterparts.

As the winter sun slowly rose, Alex could see that the motorway ran along the coast. Every now and then he caught sight of a sparkling light grey sea disappearing into the distance. He cursed himself for not having paid more attention during his geography lessons. He knew Tallinn was in Estonia, although if he was entirely honest he only knew this because of the passport control he'd gone through with The Gentleman. He could never remember the difference between Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. Because of this, he wasn't exactly sure _where_ Estonia actually was ... although he did remember someone pointing out Helsinki harbour from the cruise ship as they'd approached Tallinn ... which meant Estonia had to be that little country just underneath Finland. He remembered it had been coloured in light blue on the map of the geography classroom.

He flushed at his lack of knowledge and promised himself that if he ever got a chance to go back to school, he'd make more of an effort to learn his lessons. They had never seemed important before. But if the coast was to their right, then that meant they had to be heading east. He'd just finished working it out when the car abruptly slowed down. They'd hit a traffic jam. It moved jerkily with regular series of stops and starts, and Alex knew what that meant.

"Are we crossing into Russia?"

The expression on Yassen's face was answer enough. The killer looked more serene and contented than Alex could have imagined. It made sense, Alex supposed. To Alex, they were driving into the unknown. But Yassen was going home.

They awaited their turn at the border. Yassen handed over two Russian passports and had a quick conversation that ended with a laugh. "Spasiba," he thanked when the passports were returned, and then they were back in free-flowing traffic.

"I've never been to Russia before," Alex volunteered.

Yassen smiled. It reached his eyes. He seemed like a completely different person, relaxed, fulfilled. "Your father liked it here. Sometimes between jobs, he visited my dacha and we played cards and smoked and drank into the night."

He seemed lost in his thoughts, and Alex enjoyed the image for a moment. He noticed that a trace of Russian accent had crept into Yassen's language. Perhaps it was the only genuine sign of emotion he'd ever seen in this man. "Do you have any family here?"

Yassen's expression did not change. But his voice was clipped when he said: "There is no family. Not anymore."

They drove another thirty minutes before hitting the outskirts of St Petersburg. "Don't suppose there'll be any time for sightseeing?" Alex asked hopefully. Yassen's eyes seemed to light up at the request, again making the man look completely unlike the Yassen Alex had come to know. "If there is time, I will take you to Nevsky Prospekt. Maybe this afternoon. You can have a wander around."

It took another thirty minutes within St Petersburg itself before they reached their destination. Yassen navigated the frankly terrifying traffic with practised ease, but Alex did not dare to interrupt his concentration with further mundane talk. At last, they drove into the parkway of a large, flashy-looking building. Yassen handed over the car keys to a valet and led the way into a hotel that advertised itself as having four stars.

Their room was pleasant and had a view over the Neva. Craning his head to look down the river, Alex could see a huge building far down the bank on the other side – it was pale green, white and gold and glinted in the sun. "Is that?"

Yassen sounded proud as he assented: "The Winter Palace. But we will not have time to visit the Hermitage. Perhaps next time."

_Next time_. It brought home the reality of what they still needed to do. It was very possible that there would not be a next time.

"Yassen..." Alex started tentatively. "I've heard so much about my father, but Ian ... he wasn't the man I thought he was. I ... I want you to tell me about him. How you met ... and why..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but he knew Yassen would have heard his thoughts. _Why you killed him._

He fully expected Yassen to ignore or deny his request, so he was surprised when Yassen said: _"Tonight."_ Perhaps Yassen too was feeling the lingering doubt of survival hanging over them. That in itself was quite worrying to Alex.

Yassen spent the rest of the morning sitting at his laptop computer. Alex knew he was finalising their plans. Yassen had managed to find out that the members of the executive board of Scorpia were meeting in Belgrade in two days time. Such meetings were secretive and well protected, but they were also infrequent and thus represented be their only chance to strike at the board. Of course, Scorpia was such a large organisation that parts of it would survive, but without the strong core of the board, Yassen explained to Alex, the organisation was likely to splinter into smaller cells. While these would still present a terrorist threat to governments, they would never have the resources nor, in fact, the inclination to go after Alex or Yassen.

While Yassen worked, Alex watched the news on the television. He kept alternating between CNN and BBC News, both of which were in English. It didn't seem like much had happened in the last few weeks – some politician had been caught with a male prostitute and some celebrity had been charged with a minor drugs offense – but Alex nevertheless felt relieved at being back in the loop. At least the world hadn't disintegrated while he'd been dragged, at times physically, across half of Europe. As long as he avoided looking in mirrors and resisted the temptation to feel the painful contusions on his face, Alex almost normal again.

The morning and early afternoon passed quite slowly like that, and he was pleased when Yassen announced that he would take Alex to the touristic shopping district of St Petersburg. Alex was astounded by how busy the city was. For some reason he always imagined Russia as being grey and dark and dismal, but St Petersburg looked no different from any other modern European city. Shoppers and tourists bustled against each other, teenagers with multi-coloured hair and piercings loitered on benches. It was so _alive!_ He'd expected Yassen to stay with him, but Yassen simply arranged to meet Alex at the same location in two hours and left him on his own.

For the first time in months, Alex stopped feeling like a prisoner. There was no MI6 here; no Scorpia; no one to restrain him or beat him. Alex grinned and headed down the street. The first thing he needed was a telephone. He knew that calling Jack was out of the question and there was a high chance that Tom's phone would be under surveillance too. The only other two numbers he knew off by heart were Sabina's old London landline – that was probably now disconnected – and his classmate James' mobile phone.

Once he'd found a pay phone, he dialled and waited. After eight rings, he was about to give up when the ringing suddenly stopped. "Hello?" It was a female voice. Alex felt a pang of disappointment. He must have misremembered the number. "Sorry. I... Is this James' phone?"

"Yes. I'm his mother. He seems to have forgotten his phone here this morning. Would you like to leave a message?"

Alex considered for a moment. Perhaps a stranger was the best way of getting a message to Jack without MI6 knowing? "If it's not too much trouble. Sorry if this is a bit complicated, but it's really quite important. My name is ... Ian. Ian Rider. James promised to pass on a message to my mother."

The woman at the other end of the line was quiet for a moment. But her next words almost froze the blood in Alex's veins. _"Ian Rider? What the hell is going on? Some kind of sick joke?"_

He considered throwing down the phone and running, but instead he gripped it tighter. _He was safe, he was safe. _"Why do you say that? Who is this?" he demanded, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"You first." There was a long pause, during which Alex had to slot more coins into the phone, the metal cold in his quivering fingers. Then she asked: _"Is this Alex Rider?"_ Alex's gut clenched and again he was forced to resist the urge to throw down the phone and get out of there. When he didn't say anything, the woman continued. "I've heard a lot about you. From James, of course ... but also from Ian. He was a good friend of mine."

Alex's heart thudded painfully. "James never mentioned anything."

"James doesn't know anything. I've tried to keep him away from Ian's ... from _your_ world."

The receiver in his hand had started to get slippery from the sweat off his palms. His mind was working in overdrive. Pieces were falling into place, but they didn't quite _fit_. "What's your name?" he asked. Then he blurted out before he even knew what he was saying: "Are you Lexus?"

There was a long silence before she finally sighed. "I didn't realise you already knew. My name is Alexa."

And then it all fell into place, like a veil had been lifted from Alex's vision. Barely able to catch his breath, he managed to croak: "Where is your husband?"

"Away." The tone of her voice had gone cold. This was clearly not something she wanted to talk about. Not with Alex, anyway. But she didn't need to say anything for Alex to understand what was going on. Of course he was away. _In Belgrade._ Alex could have cried. Fucking Scorpia! No wonder they were always only one step behind him!

He hung up without saying anything more. Heart pounding, Alex sank down against the wall of the telephone box. He felt sick to the core. His eyes were teary and he couldn't stop thinking of Ian's letter to Lexus. He also thought of the missing letter to Christian Hale, as well as the photograph he'd found back home. Ian's life had been so full of well kept secrets. If only Alex could have even ten minutes with his uncle, perhaps he wouldn't feel so betrayed by the man.

After a while he managed to pull himself together and wandered up and down the Prospekt, trying to enjoy the unfamiliar buildings and impressive bridges. But it was hard to concentrate on the outside world when everything inside was such turmoil.

He met Yassen as planned and they returned to the hotel. The drive was quiet; it was like Yassen sensed that Alex needed to be left alone for a while. Alex felt weighted down by his discovery and he was finding it hard to get everything straight in his head. Once they were back in their room, he immediately confronted Yassen.

"Christian Hale. He works for Scorpia, yes?"

Yassen looked confused for a moment. "You know he does, Alex. He's been trying to recruit you ..."

Alex snorted, more to distract himself from his own rising hysteria than anything else. "The Australian."

When Yassen nodded, Alex cursed loudly. He'd already known it inside, but hearing the confirmation was more painful that he'd expected. "What about Alexa Hale? Does she also work for Scorpia?"

Yassen almost dropped his laptop in shock when he heard the name. He looked Alex up and down as though searching for a clue to what he was thinking. Then he sighed. "She has been trained by Scorpia, yes."

"Fuck. What the fuck was Ian thinking?"

Yassen sat down on one of the beds. He ran a hand through his short hair and Alex realised for the first time how drawn he was looking. Tired."It's complicated."

"Tell me."

"I don't know all the details, Alex. I know only that Christian, Lexus, Anthony and John were close friends. They worked well together – for Scorpia, of course. John and Anthony were double agents as you know, but Anthony got injured during a mission for MI6 against Scorpia. Around the same time, Christian got a position on the executive board and I think Anthony realised at that point that he had no true loyalty for his country. Also around the same time, John started mentoring me, making Anthony feel even more left behind, maybe bitter. Officially he left MI6 then and went to work for another intelligence agency, but in reality it was Christian who engineered this transfer, using his position on the board to separate him from John."

"Anthony. You mean Ash? When was all this?"

"You know Anthony?"

"I killed him," Alex stated. "Well, _Ben_ killed him. Ben is ... one of the soldiers. _My_ soldiers," he explained at Yassen's questioning gaze.

"John asked Anthony to be your godfather because he felt guilty."

Alex grimaced. Typical, wasn't it, that everything in his life was made of dust. He felt the familiar flash of bitterness; the same inner pain that had surfaced as he'd told Snake his life story back in the Scorpia stronghold. He remembered how hard he had tried to understand Ash's hatred of him, and how little sense it had made without these missing pieces of the puzzle. "So where does Ian come into it?"

Yassen's gaze became unfocussed for a moment as he smiled at times long gone. "Ian was not very important in Scorpia before your father died. He did small jobs, often working with Lexus. I think they were very close; perhaps _too_ close. I am not sure of the details, but I believe Ian saved the life of Lexus' baby. He had intelligence from MI6 and he managed to get Lexus and her son out of harm's way by sabotaging the MI6 mission."

"He _betrayed_ MI6? Do you think that was planned? By MI6, I mean?"

Yassen shook his head. "No, Alex. I think Ian made a moral decision to not let an innocent baby be killed. Possibly there was more personal motivation to his decision as well."

"Like?"

Yassen shrugged. "As I said, he was _very_ close to Lexus."

Alex let that sink in for a moment, then filed it for later consideration, unable to cope with the implications of what Yassen was saying. "So by then I guess I was already born?"

Yassen jumped on the chance to change the subject and continued his narrative. "Yes. Lexus and Christian were very grateful to Ian. I gather Lexus and Ian became closer than ever. And then ... John was captured."

"And tortured."

"Yes. And then killed."

Alex was silent as everything fell into place in his mind. It made sense, but in ways he had never expected. One thing he could always be proud of: Ian was an all round good guy. A patriot, maybe, but also a human being with feelings and emotions, and even if he hadn't taken the best care of Alex, maybe that didn't matter so much in the wider perspective. He thought of the story he'd been told by Ash when they had first met, and how different it had been to Yassen's point of view.

He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "There was a letter. My uncle ... Ian ... he wrote to me before he died. He mentioned Christian in that letter. He said Christian had a secret, but he didn't say what it was."

_It was near enough to the truth. _Yassen seemed interested. "Is that all he said?"

"No, but the rest of it doesn't concern you," Alex snapped rudely.

Yassen seemed to accept that, for now at least. He looked thoughtful, as though trying to decide how much to tell Alex. "This is all speculation, you understand," he finally said. "I came to your house in London, before we met there. I was looking for evidence that I believe Ian had in his possession."

"Evidence?" Alex prompted.

"I believe that Christian knew about the bomb that killed your father. In fact, he insinuated as much when I confronted him once, long ago. I mean, I think he knew about the bomb _before_ it went off."

Alex felt a surge of rage. "And he didn't do anything about it? He let that _bitch_ kill my father, after all he'd gone through for Scorpia?"

Yassen looked amused. "You know a lot, little Alex."

"Yeah well, Ash lorded it over me, didn't he? He told me how he killed my parents even though they'd bloody trusted him. I shouldn't be surprised that Christian Hale was in on it too. Crazy bastard."

The amusement faded away and a genuine look of sorrow came over Yassen's expression. "No. I don't think Christian was 'in on it', as you say. I think he knew about it and did nothing to prevent it. And ..." he hesitated before continuing: "I think Ian found out. This is Christian's secret. _Their_ secret. Scorpia would have killed him for what he did. _I_ would kill him if given half a chance." The last words were said heatedly, and Alex had no doubt that Yassen would be true to his word. It explained a lot of the strange dynamic he'd observed between the two men, back in the Blackwall tunnel.

He also couldn't help but wonder if it was a tinge of jealousy that coloured Yassen's tone or if he was imagining things. None of what he was hearing was coming as a great surprise, however. It all fit too well with what he had already found out. Which meant that in a way, Alex now knew more than Yassen about the whole situation. Because Alex had seen the other letters and the relevant MI6 files. He smiled inwardly. He couldn't help himself; spying was in his blood.

"Is that why you killed Ian?" he asked softly.

Yassen looked surprised. "No. You know it's not. My motives there were far less personal. Ian knew what he was doing. Regardless of who he really worked for, I don't think he would have forgiven anyone who could have prevented John's death without a valid reason. Though perhaps I was also hoping to find out his reasons for protecting Christian when I broke into your house."

Alex again thought he heard a touch of jealousy in the way Yassen spoke. He briefly considered sharing his knowledge of the rest of Ian's letters with Yassen, but instead he looked down. "MI6 took all of Ian's documents. If such evidence ever existed, they have it. Now the only thing I want to know is what happens to me after we attack Scorpia, assuming of course, that I survive. Because regardless of the odds, you see, I have the uncanny knack of beating them."

His words were more brazen than he felt inside, but Yassen looked suitably impressed by his boldness. "I will protect you," Yassen immediately assured. "From any splinter cell of Scorpia and from the British military."

Alex remembered how they had had almost the exact same conversation in London only a few weeks ago. Last time, Scorpia had presented the biggest immediate threat to Alex's safety. Now, it seemed to be his own country.

But what no one, including Yassen, seemed to understand was that Alex didn't _want_ protection. Or rather, he was sick and tired of _needing_ protection. He couldn't live his life like an animal on the run. Yassen was only one man. Admittedly one man who had been able to successfully look after himself in dire circumstances ... but nevertheless only one man. Which meant that Alex would have to start looking out for himself soon, instead of doing everyone else's bidding. Assuming, of course, that he survived.

***

They ate in the hotel restaurant that evening. Yassen must have been a known customer, for the waiters treated him with an unusual level of respect, almost reverence. Alex had one last burning question; one that had been pressing on his mind for a long time, but it was only after two glasses of red wine that he found the Dutch courage to ask: "How did you and Ian ... I mean, how did you meet? Was it before or after my father died?"

His cheeks burnt red-hot and he felt like a child. He'd come to terms with the idea that Yassen had been his uncle's lover, but it still seemed like a strange concept.

Yassen however looked completely at ease. Alex couldn't help but notice that Yassen had drunk only half a glass of wine in the time it had taken Alex to disappear a quarter bottle. "It was after your father's death, although of course I knew _of_ Ian before. I see now that MI6 took advantage of his death to make Ian work his way closer to me. As you know, I was working with your father before his capture. Ian was mostly working with Lexus. After John was captured, both Ian and I worked on ways to organise his escape. Of course I now know that Ian had no intention of ever letting John Rider go free."

A dark expression crossed his face, as though remembering the betrayal that had led him to murder his lover. "Ian and I shared a lot of emotion during that time, but it was only after John's death that we– that _I_ realised..."

He'd stopped talking. His expression had gone stone cold and Alex couldn't suppress a shiver. _This_ was the man who'd killed his uncle and countless others. He knew better than to push this man; terrorist, assassin... Again Alex had to fight down a tug of guilt regarding Ian's letter, but again his righteous side inhibited him from saying anything. Yassen Gregorovich _deserved_ to feel betrayed.

"Yeah," Alex said. "He obviously knew what he was doing, my uncle. Good man. Proper patriot."

Yassen was so still, he did not even seem to breathe for a few moments. Then he abruptly got up and strode out of the restaurant, leaving Alex alone at their table. He considered following Yassen, but just as he pushed back his chair, their meals arrived – well cooked, tender sturgeon fillet with roast potatoes and char-grilled cabbage leaves. Alex shuffled his chair back to the table and called for more wine.

"More _Pinot Noir?_" the waiter asked with slight wrinkle of the nose.

Alex shrugged and drained what was left in his glass, ready for a top-up. The fish was excellent, and Alex was already too tipsy to care about the sickly metallic taste created by the mix of sturgeon and red wine in his mouth. His life was already going to shit, so really who cared about the fine detail?

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Chapter Notes:

Here is the next chapter already! I feel like I'm in full swing and I'm enjoying the writing so much; it's like I'm there, following Alex around, documenting his thoughts and actions ... No turning back now ... :-). Thanks to hpstrangelove as always for beta reading. Thanks to my wonderful reviewers as always for your encouragement! This is so much fun!!

-

**Chapter 9**

Alex had just ordered his desert – and another glass of wine – when Yassen returned. He seemed to have composed himself and sat back down in his empty chair without saying anything. Immediately the waiter appeared to bring his main course, but Yassen waved it away. He looked grave and Alex felt his heart thud painfully when their eyes met.

"What?"

"Alex. I am sorry. Jack Starbri—"

_"What?" _Alex interrupted him. "What's wrong?"

His cheeks burnt and his head felt fuzzy. He'd seen that expression before – never on Yassen, but on many others. _Pity._ "Just tell me what the fuck has happened!"

"I am sorry, Alex. MI6 have taken her for questioning about your escape."

Alex wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel relief or horror. "What do you mean _taken her_? They won't hurt her, will they?"

Yassen's expression did not change and Alex felt a surge of panic. "But she doesn't know anything!"

"Even if they do not harm her, they will deport her, Alex."

"But her life is he– _there._ In England! Her friends! _Me!_" His voice had risen. He knew he was shouting and people were looking, but he didn't care. "How do you know this?"

"I have contacts."

_"Watching my house? Inside MI6?"_

When Yassen didn't answer, Alex snorted out loud. "I'm turning myself in. Give me your phone."

"Don't be stupid."

"Don't call me stupid, you fucking bastard! I have nothing left. Nothing! I don't want to live like you. I don't want to _be_ you! I just want a normal life!"

The entire dining hall was staring now. Alex could see Yassen's jaw twitching angrily. Moments later, he was grabbed by the arm. "Come, Alex."

"I'm not going with you!" Alex dug in his heels, refusing to move. "Leave me alone. You've ruined everything!"

"You've just had too much to drink." Alex saw Yassen nod apologetically at the waiter, who was hovering nearby with a panicked expression. "Now come."

Alex let Yassen lead him to the lift. What a sight they must make: Yassen, tall, composed, in control; and Alex, with his beaten face and messy hair, just another petulant teenager who thought he knew better. As soon as they were in the lift, Yassen drove Alex back against the wall, his forearm pressed against Alex's throat.

Alex coughed and tried to pry Yassen's arm away, but it was like grappling with a steel bar. Yassen lent close and Alex could feel a tickle of stubble as the man hissed in his ear. "Do not take such liberties. Are we clear?" Alex wheezed. He wanted to formulate some kind of response, but the lack of oxygen only made him feel drunker. He felt his knees giving way and heard the bell of the lift ringing and then his face was suddenly mashed into the red and gold floor of the cabin. The acrid taste of bile filled his mouth, but he managed to stop himself from retching. Instead he closed his eyes. The carpet was quite comfortable after all...

***

_Light_, Painful, searing _light_... Alex grunted. It was typical of his life that instead of a kiss and fumble behind the bike shed, his first real drunk experience should have resulted in a screaming argument and near strangulation by a Russian assassin. The hangover was just as grim. His entire body felt like it had been wrung and hung out to dry. His head pounded and his mouth felt like someone had filled it with sand while he'd been asleep.

He'd already apologised to Yassen – well, he'd mumbled something or other on his way to the bathroom to throw up. And Yassen had looked like he always did, unaffected, uncaring; so Alex had to assume they would not dwell on the matter. Indeed, once Alex was properly up and about, it was like the previous evening had been erased.

"We leave tomorrow. I need you to be entirely familiar with this building layout. Unfortunately, we only have the original blueprints. It is likely that Scorpia will have made structural changes that we do not know about. But your life may depend on knowing your way around, so do your best to learn these plans."

Alex nodded and took the proffered documents. "What about the explosives?"

"I will pick them up this afternoon. I would prefer if you stayed in this room while I am away."

"I'll study the blueprints," Alex said sarcastically. "Will we be able to get through airport security with explosives?"

Yassen dismissed the question. "Of course. They will be in the soles of your shoes."

"_My_ shoes? Why not yours?"

"Because, little Alex, they need to fit_ your_ feet."

And that was that. Alex spent the rest of the day memorising the blueprints. He also found the time to write down on paper some of the things that had been on his mind for the last few days. Channelling his uncle, perhaps, he wrote three letters which he stuffed into addressed envelopes and gave to the reception for postage. By the time it was dark outside and Yassen had returned, Alex felt considerably better, both physically and emotionally. He was as ready as he'd ever be. They went over the plan several more times, running through all possible scenarios so that Alex would know what to do if things didn't go exactly as originally planned. They would be taking only the explosive shoes and Yassen's laptop and encrypted phone with them. Everything else, they would pick up when they arrived in Belgrade.

Their flight left shortly before midnight. As Yassen had promised, security was not a problem. Nevertheless, Alex was keenly aware that he was carrying enough explosives to blow the plane right out of existence. It was the second time in as many weeks that he'd had to lie at the check-in. It was also the second time he'd had to sit next to a murderer while cutting through the air ten thousand metres above terra firma. It made him suspicious of everyone else on the flight. But luckily it seemed like he was the only one with explosives on board, and they landed safely at Belgrade Nicola Tesla Airport. A hired car was waiting for them and Yassen drove them to the night check-in reception of the Marriott hotel. Again, he seemed to know his way perfectly and was able to navigate the dark roads with ease.

"Always sleep like it is your last night," Yassen advised as Alex crawled into his bed. And Alex couldn't help but think that this time, it might well _be_ his last night. He felt different inside – the _fear_ was gone, time had lost meaning ... minutes meant nothing in the face of what he was going to risk tomorrow. He found it surprisingly easy to drift to sleep, but the next day arrived sooner than he'd hoped. And while sleep had not really refreshed him, it had at least helped dissipate the remainder of his hangover. The atmosphere was tense and it was clear that the time for small talk was long gone.

In the daylight, it was obvious that the hotel room had been carefully chosen. Alex could see right across the city, all the way to an evergreen forest in the background. To one side, he could see the burnt out remains of a very tall building that he vaguely recognised from the news: the radio and television headquarters, bombed by the Americans in the late nineties. It was strange to see such a charred building standing alongside the unharmed structures of the city.

Yassen turned his attention towards the other side of the city, however. "There is the building. As you can see, the windows are fully reflective, so it is impossible to see inside, even with advanced surveillance equipment. We know Zeljan's offices are on the thirteenth floor, but without having someone inside the building it would not be possible to strike. Scorpia have more defensive technology than your military."

"Can't you just pick them off from here on their way in?" Alex wanted to know, disliking himself for talking about murder so casually.

"I do not know how they get in and out of the building. Security may look relaxed, but Zeljan Kurst knows what he is doing. Several agencies have tried to send operatives in to investigate Scorpia, but needless to say no one has made it back out in one piece. Of course, no agency ever thought to use _you_. Yet even for you, it might not be straightforward."

Alex shuddered. "I know," he stated. "I'm ready to ... well, I'm the best hope there is. Scorpia needs to be eliminated. And then..."

Yassen looked at him intently. "Then?"

"Then, _when – if –_ I make it out, I don't want to see you again. I'm so confused about you, but the one thing I am certain of is that you murdered my uncle."

For a split second, Alex thought Yassen was going to hit him, but then the assassin turned away, looking back out over the city. "It always comes back to that, doesn't it? You don't have to forgive me for what I did."

"Yes, it does come back to _that_, and good, because I never will forgive you."

Alex wasn't sure where his sudden anger had come from, but it was almost like he was angry at himself for nearly forgetting what Yassen was: a killer and a terrorist. There was a _reason_ this man felt so at ease in this part of the world. He'd probably been involved in more than his fair share of atrocities committed here during the war. He had no right to feel anything but loneliness and guilt. Guilt for murdering his lover; guilt for employing the services of a psychopath to kidnap Alex; guilt for the poisoned man on the plane, Margreta and her dead eyes, poor Steven thrown overboard the cruise ship. As far as Alex was concerned, these deaths were not forgivable.

And although he was terrified at what he was about to do, a part of him was relieved that it had finally started. The certitude that he had made the right decision fuelled his determination at succeeding in their endeavour.

It took him only seventeen minutes to make his way across the streets to the building. The business district at the centre Belgrade wasn't very large and Alex had no trouble identifying the correct structure, with its reflective windows and concrete foundations. His pulse raced at the thought that Scorpia board members were already meeting inside. People who wouldn't, and didn't, think twice about murder and torture of innocents.

It took all of Alex's resolve to step into the lobby. He approached a bored looking receptionist. Her gaze flitted up and down his dirty clothes and bruised face, and she looked ready to call security. "Can I help you?" she asked slowly, her hand hovering over her call pad.

Alex shrugged and tried to make himself look smaller, less threatening. "Zeljan Kurst, floor thirteen."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is he expecting you?"

"No. But he'll want to see me. Please, call through and let him know Alex Rider is in the lobby."

She hesitated, before finally picking up the phone. "Hello, this is Ivana from reception. We have a young ... _boy_ here to see Mr Kurst. Yes I'll hold. Alex Rider. No problem."

They waited in silence for a few moments, then Ivana thanked her interlocutor and hung up. "Someone is coming down to collect you," she said, seeming rather put out that she hadn't needed to call security after all. Bored once more, her attention returned to her computer screen and her game of solitaire.

Alex wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't the petite blond woman who stepped out of the lift several minutes later. She had none of the sharpness he'd learnt to associate with Scorpia operatives and reminded him a little of the Essex girl who worked in the fish and chips shop near his house. "Mr Rider," she said, almost but not quite managing to not look surprised by his appearance. She had a British accent. South London. "I am Mr Kurst's secretary. He would have come down himself, but he is in a very important meeting. Would you please come with me?"

She led him to a security desk, where two guards sat watching monitors. One of them frisked Alex so roughly he was sure he would have more bruises. The woman apologised, but Alex could tell she couldn't care less. They walked together through a series of scanners before stopping by the lift. The whole time Alex's heart felt like it had lodged somewhere in his throat. He knew he was taking small steps, as though they might hide the explosives on his feet. But finally the secretary pressed the palm of her hand against a digital reader and the doors of the lift opened to admit them.

_No turning back now..._

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Chapter Notes:

I was surprised to note that the previous chapter was both the least and the most popular. The least in terms of review numbers - hardly anyone commented. The most in terms of review enthusiasm - it appears to have been several people's favourite chapter. Hopefully this one will now be able to answer some of your questions!

-

**Chapter 10**

Zeljan Kurst's office was predictably large and gaudy. Huge windows ran along the length of the far wall, overlooking the old town of Belgrade, dark green forest in the distance. Modern art adorned the remaining walls, clashing unfavourably with a brown and red carpet and making the space look smaller than it actually was. Some Mozart symphony played softly out of several hidden speakers. Alex sat down on a red leather sofa and accepted a coffee which he sipped carefully as he waited.

He couldn't shake the tendrils of fear that kept creeping through him. He was fairly sure that Kurst would not kill him here in this office; not immediately, at least. Not until _after_ Alex had made his offer. He nevertheless couldn't help the rush of tension that squeezed him when the door to the conference room finally opened.

A single man stepped out. He was much taller than Alex had imagined; at least six foot two and with a broad build that hinted at a strong body. He stood with a straight back and Alex felt compelled to jump to his feet to make up some of the height difference. Kurst's face was weathered with lines and his eyes were so pale blue they could have been made of ice. His face had no expression at all.

"Alex Rider," Kurst whispered, softly as though he were speaking to himself, tasting the words. He had a faint central European accent that added a melodic quality to the name. Not for the first time that day, Alex felt a flutter of fear. He drew himself as tall as he could and forced himself to meet Kurst's cold eyes.

"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I think we both know that would be a lie," he said, surprised by the raspy quality his voice had taken on.

A brief smile flashed across Kurst's face, but it seemed to be more of a formality than a genuine emotion. "Indeed," he agreed. "Please, come with me. We are ready for you."

Alex kept his distance as he followed Kurst into the board room. It was smaller than he'd expected. And darker. The windows were covered by blackout curtains and only a few old fashioned bulbs gave the room any light at all. The gloom didn't stop Alex's eyes from immediately falling on the Australi_– Hale_, and it took all his resolve to step fully into the room. The door closed automatically behind him, sealing Alex in with the executive board of Scorpia.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone completely dry. The aftertaste of the coffee was bitter.

"Alex my boy, you look like shit," Hale greeted jovially, breaking the terrible silence in the room and jumping to his feet as though he'd just found an old friend. Alex's heart pumped madly, but he refused to let himself be intimidated. His eyes darted around the table, taking in seven men including Kurst who had taken a seat at the head of the table."Please, sit down," Hale continued, his eyes glinting playfully as he gestured to an empty seat beside him. Alex matched his gaze as he made his way around the large oval table and sat down. He was _not_ going to be intimidated by this bastard. Not anymore.

"There is no need for me to introduce you," Kurst spoke at last. "We are all familiar with your work. Now, Alex Rider, what brings you to Scorpia?"

Alex nodded. He swallowed dryly. This was it. He got to work on the sole of the first trainer with his other foot, feeling the plastic slowly give way and settle on the floor under the table. It was distracting, but he managed to keep a straight face as he said: _"I want to work for you." _

He stopped as whispers rose around the table, before continuing. "I know I betrayed you before, but I didn't understand half of what was going on at that point. I thought the world was black and white, but now ... I know my father worked for you. I know he was loyal to you. And MI6 turned against me. I want revenge on MI6."

The Australian gave an amused chuckle, but the rest of the board were silent. Kurst spoke first. "You have had several opportunities to work for Scorpia. Every time, you try to ruin us at the first opportunity."

The other board members nodded their agreement. "Not just that, but you have previously defied the very idea that you could even be forced to work for us. I think you're lying to us. What are you _really_ here for, Alex Rider?"

"Maybe you hoped you could come in here and kill me?" Hale suggested. Alex knew he was referring to their argument in the tunnel. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Alex stopped concentrating on his feet for a moment and made a point of sighing dramatically. "No. Look, I think we all know I wouldn't be here if I had any other options. But this is what it's come down to. I'm only a kid! So either you let me prove myself to you, or you might as well kill me now."

Christian Hale chuckled, but the look he exchanged with Kurst told Alex they had no intention of killing him now. They were interested in him. He couldn't wait to wipe that smirk off the bastard's face; off all of their faces.

"I know some – probably most – of you were involved in the decision to send that sniper to kill me," Alex started speaking again, knowing he would not get another chance to plead his case. "But that was a long time ago and things have changed since then. I also know some of you blame me for Major Wu's death, but..."

He stopped talking as Kurst raised a hand. A strange expression had crept onto the man's face and when he spoke Alex realised it was amusement. "You are a brave boy, Alex. If Scorpia takes you in, I will expect unwavering loyalty. I am not as ... forgiving," he glanced at Hale, who had the good grace to blush a little, "as other board members. I will consider your request. Meanwhile, you understand I cannot allow you to leave here until a decision has been reached?"

Alex nodded, but his focus was back on his feet. He'd just managed to separate the sole of the second trainer as Kurst's secretary turned up to accompany him back out into the office. If anyone noticed he'd become half an inch shorter, then they didn't comment on it. In the reception area, Alex sat on the same red sofa and wondered what would happen if he tried to leave now. The petite secretary didn't look like much, but Alex was sure she must have been top of her class on Malagosto. She could probably kill him with a single blow. She looked up from her papers and saw him staring.

"Tea? Coffee?" she asked, her South London accent somehow not suiting her dainty face. She turned her attention straight back to her work when he shook his head.

After a few minutes he wished he'd accepted the offer. He was feeling increasingly restless and couldn't help but stare at the door behind which the future was currently being decided, one way or another. He sat on his hands to stop them from fidgeting and tried to distract himself by singing along to the classical music inside his head.

It was not possible for him to relax, however; in fact, he found his breathing falling in sync with the rhythm of the music - too fast, too erratic. He became hyper-aware of the passing minutes. This was always going to be the most dangerous part of his mission, but he hadn't quite realised the physiological impact of the high chance that he had signed his own death warrant. When the door of the conference room opened again, he jumped to his feet, feeling as breathless as though he'd just run a few miles.

"Come on in, Alex," Kurst said. He didn't sound like a man about to commit a murder, but you could never tell with these people. And Alex had many other reasons to be reluctant to return to the conference room. He followed the man, treading as slowly as possible, putting off the inevitable. He'd only put a single foot through the door when the explosives detonated. Alex was thrown down by the blast. It felt as though the bomb had been set off right between his ears; the floor was tilting, the walls were heaving, glass shattered everywhere. And all of it occurring in the silence of damaged eardrums.

Alex looked up and saw Kurst on the floor in front of him. The expression on the man's face had turned into one of pure fury. Before Alex could even shake some sense back into himself, he was being dragged by the hair all the way into the conference room. Or rather, across what was left of the conference room.

There was a huge hole in the side of the building. Alex could see the office below through the destroyed flooring; could hear the muffles sounds of panicked screams. Where the Scorpia board had been sitting around the table, there was now only rubble. Cold wind had enveloped the room and seemed to be dragging them toward the outside. He had to scramble to keep up with Kurst to stop his hair being wrenched right out of his head. Around them there was movement, and Alex knew with a sinking heart that there were survivors.

"We have to get out of here," the familiar Australian voice shouted through the chaos.

The grip in Alex's hair tightened, but he made no move to resist as he was dragged to the other side of the room. He was too weak to put up any kind of real fight. Glass cut into his hands and legs as he crawled across blood splatters all over the floor. Alex couldn't see any wounded and he realised they must have been blown clear of the building. He winced as Kurst threw him bodily against what looked like a drinks cabinet. Then did a double take as its mahogany doors opened to reveal a crawl way into which he was shoved. It seemed to wind slightly downwards for a few metres before opening, chute-like into a metal room – an emergency escape lift! This must have been one of the so-called 'structural alterations' Yassen had speculated on.

Alex stumbled into the area, followed by Kurst and Hale. A third person, an Asian man, crawled out of the passageway before the opening sealed with a resounding clunk.

"Up or down?" Hale asked. He seemed unharmed, but there was a wild look in his eyes that suggested he'd been shocked by what had happened.

"Maybe Alex can tell us?" Kurst replied. He, on the other hand, did not seem affected by the explosion. His voice was so cold it sent new tendrils of fear creeping through Alex's veins.

"What do you mean?" Alex stuttered. "This has nothing to do with me. I mean, I don't kno—"

"I don't believe in coincidences," the Asian man snapped. He was only about Alex's height and had a gnarled face that didn't match his jet black hair. "Up to the helicopter or down to the tunnels? Tell us what you know, boy."

Alex shook his head in denial.

Hale tutted, as though disappointed. He reached out and picked a large shard of glass from Alex's hair. "Now is not the time to be difficult. My colleague, Doctor Three, has ways of making people talk that would make you scream for your mummy. Not that you'd know what a mother is, of course."

Alex bit his tongue. He tensed as Hale reached out again and held the shard of glass in front of Alex's right eye.

"Up or down? Which will take us to safety?"

"I don't know." Alex's voice trembled. He could see his reflection in the glass as it moved closer ... closer ... too close. _"Down."_ Down to the street, which would offer Alex more survival chances than the rooftop. Down to Yassen, who might be able to pick off survivors with his sniper rifle.

"Told you he was a little bastard," Hale sneered, and before Alex even saw him move, he'd slashed through the air with the shard. It caught Alex's face at a slanted angle, the impact lessened only by Alex's quick retreat. He fell into a defensive pose, balanced on the balls of his feet and waited for Hale's next move. He could feel blood flowing freely down his face, dripping from his jaw, but ignored it for now. Just another scar for his collection.

"Did you set this up?" Kurst demanded, and Hale paused in his attack. Zeljan Kurst looked murderous, terrifying.

Alex shook his head. "No!" he had time to rasp before Hale lashed out again. Alex twirled to the side and avoided the shard but found himself blocked by Doctor Three. The small man looked coiled, ready to pounce and Alex stumbled back, almost preferring to face Hale rather than this unknown quantity – not that he'd have stood a chance against either man. He dodged Hale's next swipe as well, but then the shard was falling to the floor and Hale was driving into him, pushing him back against a whitewashed wall.

Alex struggled; he tried to slide down the wall to escape Hale's grip, but fingers were curling around his throat, pressing against his windpipe, cutting off his air.

"Liar! Did you do this?" Hale shook him by the neck and Alex found his lungs burning, spasming.

"Yes," he managed to pant faintly through wheezing gasps. A cough shook his entire body, but still Hale's fingers dug deeper into his throat. "And ... I'd do ... it ... again," he finished with a rasp. Each word was an effort carried on precious air. Stars were dancing in his vision; his head thrummed and thumped and he knew he was losing consciousness. He could feel his own struggle weakening and as desperate as he was not to give up, not to _die_, he knew it wasn't his choice to make.

But just as the darkness started gnawing at the edge of his sanity, Hale suddenly used his grip to throw him aside. Alex landed on the floor amid splinters of broken glass. He barely caught himself and had to stay motionless for a good minute before he found the willpower to push himself up to his knees. Zeljan Kurst had drawn his gun now, and he pointed it at Alex before advancing until the barrel was point blank against Alex's head.

"Out of respect for your father, I'm going to make this quick," Kurst promised.

Alex felt weak inside. The concrete floor drove the glass into his knees and he used that pain to ground himself. The gun felt cold against his head. Blood dripped hot down his skin. So this was it. No blaze of glory, no heroics. Just a boy on his knees. _Pathetic._

"You all say you loved my father so much, but you still killed him," Alex whispered with a trembling voice. His throat burnt badly, like a fire had been lit inside him.

"Scorpia would never have harmed John Rider," Kurst snapped. "We were going to rescue him from MI6. We were betrayed. If you have nothing else to say..."

He pulled back the security clip with a finalistic click. Alex closed his eyes. "Hale knew," he whispered.

And this was his last hope, his trump card. If he had got any of it wrong... Alex whimpered fearfully. Everything inside him seemed to have turned to mush. His bladder was going to start leaking any moment now. "Hale knew what Ash was planning. He could have saved John."

"You have two minutes," Kurst ordered.

The pressure of the barrel against Alex's head did not diminish. He spoke so quickly the words stumbled over each other. "Ash planted the bomb on Julia Rothman's orders. And Hale knew about it, because Ash told him. I don't know why, but I think maybe Ash was secretly hoping Hale would be able to stop it from happening ... but Ash couldn't know that Hale had no intention of saving my father. Afterwards, Ash also told Ian about the bomb and that Hale had known about it. I guess at that point he was hoping Ian would kill Hale and free up an opening on the Scorpia board for him or something."

He addressed the Australian directly now, still acutely aware that Kurst could pull the trigger at any moment. This was it. _"You betrayed Scorpia. You let my father die. All because you were jealous!"_

"What about Ian?" Kurst interrupted and Alex couldn't help but feel a prick of hope that Kurst was even willing to discuss this. "Why did Ian Rider not take the opportunity to unsettle Scorpia's unity? After all, you believe he worked for MI6?"

Alex kept his eyes on Hale and tried to ignore the gun against his head. He could feel his pulse thrumming against the metal. "I know he did. My uncle was one of the good guys. He had nothing to gain by eliminating Hale, but everything to lose. He ... and Lexus... It's _complicated_," he mimicked Yassen's words. "Ian would never have done anything to endanger James. So Ash's plan backfired." Alex pulled a disgusted face. "I don't know how much Ash knew. He must have suspected, I think, that Ian was a traitor to Scorpia. After my father died, Ash stayed close to his memory, pretended to _care_ for me, slept with my guardian! He must have been getting more and more bitter about everything before finally moving to the other side of the world. And then Ian and Yassen – well, they got _close_. Hale became so obsessed with Ian and Yassen and their relationship. I think he was scared that Yassen would find out about the bomb. Well, who'd want Yassen coming after them for revenge? And then I think Hale didn't understand why Yassen had murdered Ian when he knew Scorpia hadn't ordered it..."

Alex trailed off with a sob. He hadn't realised how clear it had all become in his mind. But Hale's behaviour in the Scorpia stronghold on the island in the Irish Sea made sense now. He'd wanted to know who Ian was really working for because he'd _needed_ that confirmation of his suspicions. And he'd also needed to know that Ian was truly dead to make sure that the knowledge of his actions had died with him. And of course Hale would have wanted to find Yassen to deal with that final threat to his secret.

It was only then that Alex noticed the barrel of the gun was no longer pressing into his forehead. Instead Kurst's aim had switched to Hale. "Is this the truth?"

Christian Hale's blue eyes glinted angrily. His jovial air of superiority was gone, but he showed no fear. "Does it matter, Zeljan? If you kill me now, this little bastard will have won. Scorpia will be all but annihilated. Together we can rise from the ashes, Zeljan. You know me. I would never betra—"

His plea was cut short by a resounding crack. Alex flinched and recoiled at the gunshot. He heard the splatter and thud that signalled the end of the Australian. He looked up just in time to see Kurst's gun swing through the air and flinched a split second before the metal smashed against his head. Then he knew no more.

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Chapter Notes:

Now things are getting exciting. With only one chapter left to post (ok ok and there's an epilogue too!), I wonder if anyone has any idea what's going to happen next. Come on, give it your best guess!

Thanks for your encouraging comments, as always - quality, not quantity!

-

**Chapter 11**

When Alex awoke he had no idea how much time had passed. It felt only like a few seconds, but must have been longer for he was in a car, sprawled across the backseat and bouncing around as the car bumped over an uneven road surface, its structure creaking and groaning under gunfire from behind.

Still groggy, Alex drew his hands over his head, like they would protect him from a stray bullet. Then slowly he creaked open an eye. They were moving at speed and there were no buildings in sight; only grey guard rails behind which stretched expanses of wintery landscape. In the front seats, the two surviving Scorpia executives. They were both silent, focussed on the road and on swerving to avoid becoming a predictable target. Alex could make out the tense set of the driver's shoulders. He knew he couldn't stay where he was, and that left only one option.

Despite, or maybe because of, his injuries, Alex felt strangely lucid, almost detached from the situation and from himself. He reached for the handle of the car. This was going to hurt _badly_, but it was better than all imaginable alternatives. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Alex opened the door and threw himself out. He hit a grass verge and rolled uncontrollably before finally coming to a halt.

He was in so much pain he couldn't even tell if he'd broken anything. But he was alive. And conscious. He managed to raise his head to look at the road. Only two cars were visible; the first had to be the one he had just escaped from; the second its pursuer. He could just make out several men hanging from the windows of the second one, shooting as both vehicles swerved madly.

And then both cars were gone, leaving Alex on his own on the side of a Serbian motorway.

He crawled further away from the road, into some bushes. It was cold. He was in pain. He'd been knocked out more times than he could count and he felt like giving up. If Yassen truly did care about Alex, then he could use the tracking signals to find him. For now, his resources were drained, gone. He welcomed the relief of unconsciousness.

***

Pain; pulsing, throbbing pain – how many times had Alex woken up like this in the last few days ... weeks ... _months? _

It was a wonder that he was still alive. For a moment, Alex felt as though he was floating. He couldn't hear anything; his head was thrumming. He had no idea if he had slipped into hypothermia at the side of the road or whether he'd been rescued by someone. Almost dreading what he would see, he opened his eyes. It took a considerable effort, but he was rewarded by what he saw: not a dark motorway, but a clinical, white room. It looked like a hospital. He was not restrained, though judging by the IV drip flowing into his arm, he was in no condition to get up and leave, anyway.

"Hello?" he called out. _Tried_ to call out; his words slurred as his mouth refused to function correctly. It was enough to bring a tall figure to his side, however.

"Yassen," Alex acknowledged. "We made it?"

Yassen acquiesced. He seemed to be looking up and down Alex with some concern. "How are you feeling?"

"How do I look?"

Yassen shrugged evasively.

"Yeah, that's how I'm feeling. Like every part of my body has been through a grinder. I didn't think..." He looked away, embarrassed by his vulnerability. "Never mind."

"You did well, Alex. Like a professional. My contacts pursued Zeljan's vehicle, but they were headed off by a helicopter and were not able to complete their task."

"So Zeljan Kurst and Doctor Three are still alive?"

"Maybe. I think Doctor Three was hit during the escape. Zeljan will be no threat to us. Too many inside Scorpia have waited for an opportunity like this to take their funding and resources and leave without fear of repercussion."

Alex let the news sink in. The executive board of Scorpia, gone. "Is that it?"

"For you, yes. There are still files to destroy, buildings to blow up; but this is nothing to do with you. Maybe you will hear about it on the television."

"Where will I go?"

Yassen looked past Alex for a moment and Alex wondered what he could see in his memories. "As I said, I can protect you. Stay with me."

Alex snorted. "And as _I_ said, I don't want anything more to do with you. I want to go to London."

"They will arrest you, Alex."

Alex smiled grimly. "Actually, this time I am one step ahead of them." He did not elaborate.

He stayed in the private clinic for several days before the doctors were happy to discharge him. He hobbled around the room, avoiding looking at his battered reflection in the mirror and wondering if he would be allowed to stay here forever if he asked nicely. Dosed up on morphine, the aches and pains of his adventures had disappeared. Yassen had visited him every day, but it was only on the third day that he'd finally said: "Alex, I will come with you to London. I will make sure you get home safely, and then, if you still wish, I will disappear from your life."

Alex did not respond. As far as he was concerned, he had no home. No Jack... Nothing. He didn't particularly want to see his friends again. Tom wouldn't understand; he always tried to glamorise Alex's adventures. And James... Well, that didn't even bear thinking about. Alex didn't think he'd ever be able to look James in the eye again.

He sighed deeply. "I'm not going _home_. I'm going to London. I sent some letters from the hotel in St Petersburg. I just want to make sure they arrived."

Yassen looked curious, but he did not pry. Instead he shrugged, non-committal. "In that case, I will get you into the country."

"Good."

It turned out that Yassen's offer was _very_ good. Alex hadn't anticipated or even considered the difficulty of travelling on a fake passport in the aftermath of a big terrorist attack on Belgrade. Flying out of Nicola Tesla was out of the question; not with Alex looking like he'd done three rounds with a pro boxer and every country's secret agents milling around the area. Someone would have been sure to recognise him. After all, MI6 were _keen_ to have Alex back.

So they travelled by car, first heading south and crossing the border into Bosnia and Herzegovina. Yassen was sure that most of the world's secret service attention would be to the north of Serbia, with the obvious escape routes through central Europe. Instead, Yassen wanted to wait for the furore to die down. They spent three nights in a pleasant little hotel in Sarajevo. From there Yassen used his encrypted laptop and mobile phone to organise the rest of their transit to England.

"So is this how you live?" Alex had asked on the first night. "Always assuming that someone is out to get you? Always looking over your shoulder?"

"For me, it is normal to travel like this," had been Yassen's response.

Alex found it hard to imagine living on the run forever. Surely at some point, one's luck would run out? Like his father's ... captured by MI6. Yassen had seemed to sense his scepticism. "I have contacts in many European countries, especially around here where there has been plenty of work over the last ten years. It is not so lonely as you imagine."

... _from the man who'd killed his lover_ ... Alex hadn't bought it.

Travelling with Yassen was less uncomfortable than he'd expected, however. He wasn't Yassen's prisoner; he was here of his own free will, and that made a huge difference to his morale. Of course, it helped to know that the Australian would never again be able to hurt him. If ever there was a death that did _not_ weigh on Alex's conscience, it was surely Christian Hale's. Though it was another reason he would never be able to look James in the eye again.

After Sarajevo they'd headed south-west to the coast. They'd handed the car over to one of Yassen's many contacts, a brash Russian man who'd seemed curious about Alex but knew better than to ask questions, and headed to a private marina.

Alex had recognised her at once. The _Fer de Lance_.

She was bigger than Alex remembered; white with a grey strip running along her massive bow. The tinted windows set her apart from the other exclusive yachts at the marina and gave her a slightly sinister look. Yassen's expression had softened as they'd approached the impressive yacht.

"You remember her?" he'd murmured, though he clearly hadn't expected an answer...

It turned out, though it probably should not have come as a surprised to Alex, that Yassen was able to handle the large yacht on his own and she was now cutting through the quiet silver waters of the Adriatic at thirty-five knots. Alex loved every second of it. He had put the knowledge of all the illicit meetings Yassen must have had on board out of mind; he refused to think about the assassination contracts, the drug deals, the terrorism and torture.

_No._

He was a fifteen year old boy and he had free run of an amazing boat! He spent hours exploring every nook and cranny of the yacht and then joined Yassen in the cockpit.

"How long have you had it?"

"It? Oh, the _Fer_. She's been with me for many years now."

"Did my fathe—"

"No. She came to me after your father died. Ian on the other hand..." Yassen trailed off and Alex could have sworn his cheeks had reddened a little. He imagined Ian on the yacht. Yes. It fit. He must have loved it here.

"Who looks after it _– her –_ while you're ... away?"

"I have—"

"Contacts," Alex completed.

Yassen smiled wryly. "Exactly."

Alex decided that nothing quite compared to the rush of cold air against his face, the faint line of the horizon in the distance. This was amazing. Maybe he _should_ stay with Yassen? Maybe he could live on the _Fer de Lance_ forever? But the fantasy came to an end all too soon. Two full days and nights of sailing and they'd arrived at Portbou, tanned by the reflection of the sun on cold waters. Alex recognised the coastal town immediately and a rush of nostalgia filled him.

It had been a strange two days; they hadn't really talked much after the first day. It was almost like there had been nothing left to say, yet their silence had turned companionable and as much as Alex hated to admit it, he felt completely at ease in the presence of the Russian assassin.

"I used to live near here," he now couldn't help but point out.

"I know," Yassen responded. "Why do you think you spent so much time in Portbou?"

"Wind surfing?" Alex murmured, but his mind had gone back into the past, remembering all the times Ian had dropped him off for a day's wind surfing. He'd only been ten years old, but Ian had left him with an instructor and gone off ... _to work? To meet with Yassen on this very yacht?_

Alex wanted to be angry with Ian for all the secrets, but instead he found himself smiling fondly and wondering if he would be able to recognise their old house in Barcelona. Perhaps he was finally understanding Ian and his choices.

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Chapter Notes:

Well no point in waiting for any reviews since I'm obviously not getting any. Not the type of person to hold anyone to ransom though, so here is it! The final chapter of the Abyss of Revenge ... and while I'd like to be able to tell you to expect a happy ending with Alex and Yassen sailing off into the sunset on the _Fer de Lance_, the reality is .... Well ... you'll see!

Please don't hate me!

-

**Chapter 12**

They left the _Fer de Lance_ at a tiny private marina. "Senior Gregoire, your car is ready," a tall man with a moustache greeted, bowing low. Yassen replied in Spanish and Alex felt relieved to be on more familiar ground. At least he spoke the language here, so he would not be as dependent on Yassen as he'd been while in eastern and central Europe.

They did not drive far, however; only to a small airstrip about an hour west from the port. Again, someone was expecting them and it wasn't long before Yassen was taking the control of a Cessna 173 and heading out to a short runway. They flew north and the colour of the sky changed from pale blue to grey to black...

Alex knew that soon they'd be in England. He could feel his good humour of the last few days draining away. As fun as it had been – as _glamorous_, as Tom would say – the time to face the real world had come again. He could see in the set of Yassen's face that the man's thoughts were following a similar train. "What have you got planned, Alex?" he suddenly asked and Alex could tell the question had been on his mind for days.

"I just need to make sure my letters reached the right people. If they have, then I won't need to worry about anything anymore. Maybe I'll move to the States. Be with Jack."

"MI6 will never let you go," Yassen warned.

"Just take me to London."

It was embarrassingly easy to enter the UK.

The Cessna landed at Shoreham Airport on the south-east coast and then Alex and Yassen took a taxi to Brighton. From there, they caught the last train to London. Overall, Alex's fake passport had been checked only once during his great escape, and that had been at the border between Serbia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. No wonder the UK had such issues with illegal immigration.

Once in London, they checked into the Radisson Hotel on Tottenham Court Road. Alex threw himself onto the double bed, fighting the feeling of _home_ that had crept up on him since his return to the UK. He wasn't especially tired, but he felt drained at the prospect of what he still had to do before he would finally be safe. Until he was safe, he would not be truly home.

"I need to use your phone," Alex stated. "And then I'll be meeting some people downstairs. Probably best if you stay out of sight."

"I thought you wanted nothing more to do with me?" Yassen asked with a knowing glint.

Alex shook his head. "Just stick around a few more hours, yeah?"

He grabbed the proffered phone and dialled a number from memory. "Alex Rider here. I'm back in the country. Yeah. How about the hotel bar in the Radisson, Tottenham Court Road. Sure. I'll be there."

He hung up and turned to Yassen. "MI6 aren't going to know what hit them. In thirty minutes I am meeting with a journalist. Not a freelance; a real journalist. BBC. And I'm going to tell him everything. About my father. About how John was treated by MI6 – interrogated, _tortured_. I won't tell him about how MI6 used me, blackmailed me and then arrested me. Not yet, anyway, though I'll make it clear I have more goodies. I'll keep that little bombshell in case MI6 ever try to mess me round again."

Yassen looked amused and faintly impressed. "You have grown, little Alex. MI6, I think, were wrong to treat you like a child."

Alex refused to feel a glow of pride. He _refused!_ Point blank. He had nothing to live up to; nothing to prove to Yassen _blinking_ Gregorovich!

"I'm going downstairs," he said, choosing not to respond to Yassen's remark.

"I'll be right here. Alex? Good luck. You have earned this."

Pride and guilt waged inside Alex, and in the end he kept his eyes cast down as he slipped out of the room...

***

Only a few hours later, Alex felt several kilos lighter as he returned to the room. Exhausted, drained, light-headed, but so incredibly relieved. Freedom was so close he could almost taste it. _Real_ freedom...

He was so excited he wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he'd wanted to. But sleep was the last thing on his mind. The interview with the BBC journalist had gone very well indeed, and Alex had no doubt that investigative journalists would turn the country upside down to find the evidence to support the story, but there was one more thing Alex needed to do to secure his long term freedom and safety.

Yassen was curled on one side of the bed, snoring softly, but Alex had learnt from past experience not to take Yassen's apparent stillness for granted. The man seemed to be able to wake up at the slightest change in his environment.

"Yassen?" Alex called softly. He tried again a bit louder when Yassen did not respond.

_Yassen Gregorovich trusts me_, Alex realised with surprise, and he was surprised to feel a small tinge of remorse. _Trusts me like he trusted Ian_.

"Yassen?" he tried one last time.

Yassen still hadn't reacted. His face was completely relaxed, almost serene. There were no expression lines around his mouth, no wrinkles on his forehead. Alex felt a flash of anger; all notions of guilt and remorse evaporated at once. This man was nothing to him – he simply _couldn't_ be – it wasn't possible. Yassen had no _right _to be at peace with himself. He should be tossing and turning, reliving the terrifying last moments of each and every life he'd stolen.

Alex didn't want to think of Yassen as anyone but his uncle's murderer. Everything else was secondary.

In a swift move, Alex snatched Yassen's wrist and snapped a handcuff around it. It was the very same he'd snatched from Yassen's bag earlier on – pick-pocketing was such a useful skill, after all. He secured the other end to the headboard and jumped back quickly enough to avoid the fist that seemed to come out of nowhere, aimed right at where his head had been only a split second earlier.

"Alex?" Yassen shouted, fully awake and yanking wildly against his restraint. There was a touch of panic in his voice, and it was clear that Yassen did not yet realise that Alex had been the one to handcuff him.

"I'm here," Alex whispered. "I..."

Yassen's eyes focussed on him and he stopped his struggle, scanning the room as if to check they were still alone. He looked at the handcuff and clearly recognised it as the one that had been in his laptop case. Seeming more in control, Yassen locked eyes with Alex. His gaze had turned stone cold.

"Alex," Yassen started in a measured tone. "Give me the key and we will go our separate ways with no hard feelings."

The expression on his face sent a shiver up Alex's spine. If looks could kill, he'd already be dead. The man in front of him was not a person to be trusted; not an old friend of John's or a lover of Ian's. He was a deadly assassin, and right now, he looked like he would like nothing more than to snap Alex's neck.

"I'm sorry," Alex blurted out again, his voice trembling a little. "I can't explain how I feel about you, because I can't work it out myself. But the one thing I'm sure of is that you're not a good person. I don't think I'll be safe until you're gone."

Yassen sneered at that. He jerked at the handcuff and for a terrifying moment Alex thought he might have broken free. But the headboard of the bed held tight.

"Are you going to kill me, little Alex? Are you going to shoot me with my own gun, after all this? Go on, it's in my bag. Take it."

Alex shook his head. The guilt was creeping back, mixed with a strange pang of regret. He knew he had to hurry.

"I could never kill you," he admitted. "I owe you my life, but one life spared is worth nothing compared to all the people you've killed. So many of them did not deserve to die; I can't let you walk away from that."

He picked up Yassen's phone and flicked it open to dial 999 before anything would change his mind. "Police. Yassen Gregorovich is in the Radisson Hotel on Tottenham Court Road, room 124. MI5, MI6, Interpol ... everyone has been after this guy for years, so I'd hurry if I were you." He put down the phone without hanging up to help the emergency services follow its signal. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet Yassen's eye.

"I'm sorry," he whispered for a third time as he made to leave the room.

_"Alex?"_

He didn't turn round, but stopped and waited for Yassen to continue. "You asked me a question once. You asked me if I could kill you? I urge you to remember my answer. And watch your back, for we will meet again, make no mistake about that."

Alex flinched at the harshness of the words, and tried to suppress the confusion that still swirled around inside him. "I doubt it," he muttered. He waited until the door had closed behind him to wipe the tears from his eyes.

**The End**

-

Chapter End Notes:

What a journey. Alex has certainly gone aaaaaaaaall the way around Europe, visiting new haunts and old, meeting new- I'd like to say friends, but it's more like new enemies and old. Rest assured there is an epilogue which may or may not answer some of your questions. It's already written, and a bit like JKR and her EWE, I feel quite resistant to changing any of the epilogue. If you still have questions/concerns after the epilogue then let me know! There will be also be one or two additional spin-off stories, but in principle, this is the end of the _Blood & Fire_ arc. I hope you all enjoyed the ride! :-) xx Anne


	13. Epilogue

Bottom of Form

Author's Chapter Notes:

As promised ...

-

**Epilogue**

It had been a few weeks since the media had broken Alex's story. They had done their research and presented a watertight story.

It was embarrassing for the country's government to have to officially and publicly admit to being complicit to torture, especially the torture of a Caucasian British national, but it was not too devastating. True devastation, however, would become impossible to avert if the full truth ever came out. A reality that the government was keen to avoid.

So Alex was once again sitting opposite Alan Blunt, but the power balance had shifted. For once, it was Alex who was making demands. "And I want to have the letters my uncle wrote. All of them," he finished.

Blunt looked like he'd just been forced to suck on a lemon, but it didn't take him long to assent to the request. That small curt nod sent a wave of relief crashing over the pain and despair that had marked the last few weeks and months of Alex's life. His injuries were healing well, although his bruises had gone through an interesting stage of brownish purple that had made him look like something the cat dragged in. The slash wound on his cheek would probably leave a scar for life. _A reminder of what he had had to go through to earn his freedom._

In a few days Alex would be travelling to the United States, where Jack was already sorting out a private education to help him catch up on all the schooling he'd missed. Best of all, he would be able to make good use of the healthy Swiss bank account his uncle had left for his informant, Arshad Ahmedi.

But first, Alex had a letter to deliver. It took all his inner strength to demand: "I want to see Yassen Gregorovich. Just once, before his trial."

Blunt did not seem surprised by this request and once again nodded curtly. "Anything else, Alex?"

Alex knew MI6 would try to think of ways to reverse the situation, but as far as he was concerned it was too late. They'd made too many mistakes along the line and it was time for them to pay the price. The British people loved a scandal and Alex was sure that the journalists would do their best to provide one.

"Just one more thing," Alex said thoughtfully. "How about you leave me the fuck alone?"

And there was no anger or despair behind his words. There was only the satisfaction that for once, MI6 was going to do exactly what Alex wanted.

-

Chapter End Notes:

**THE END**

Wow, What a ride! I know the ending is not what a lot of your hoped for, but I find it pleasing. It's appropriate to the tone and development of this story and while readers may be left feeling a little 'hollow', Alex has earned his respite. He needs to be a teenager, get to know himself ... and not constantly worry about finding a knife between his shoulders. Just this once, I'll give Alex that glimmer of hope .... Thanks for reading!

I'm going to be working on my other series for a while. If you read on the ARchive you'll already know about it. If you don't read on the ARchive, then I'm afraid you'll never know about it, as it's not at all appropriate for any reader under 18! That said, there are more action/adventure fics twirling around in my mind, so I'll definitely be back here on ffnet!

xxx Anne


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